


Al Darbat Qatila

by sifshadowheart



Series: Prologue Crossover Challenge [1]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, F/M, Gen, Intersex, M/M, Mpreg, Multi, Slash, Threesome - M/M/M, a/b/o dynamics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-03-03
Packaged: 2018-09-20 14:26:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 57,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9495692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sifshadowheart/pseuds/sifshadowheart
Summary: Harry Potter/Arrow CrossoverDeath offers his Master a way to escape from the forces controlling him in the wizarding world.Harry didn't expect to have to escape from Purgatory along the way.





	1. Prologue

** Al Darbat Qatila **

** (The Fatal Blow) **

**A Harry Potter/Arrow Crossover**

**By Sif Shadowheart**

Author’s Note:

So, here we are again with another one of my plot bunnies running amok.  This one is due entirely to my delving into the world of Oliver/Slade slash numminess and my eternal love for new and interesting slash crossover pairings/harems.

The Pairing(s): Harry/Oliver/Slade

Details: Herein we have A/B/O dynamics (a first for me!), scandalous usage of Death/MOD tropes, and what I hope will be a coherent crossover since I’ll also have to make use of numerous flashbacks to keep in the spirit of Arrow.

No, I’m not going to tell you straight out who has what dynamic and this is not the only pairing.

That said, I hope you wonderful people enjoy!

**WARNINGS: Slash, MPREG, Violence, A/B/O Dynamics, Torture, etc.**

Disclaimer: Arrow and Harry Potter belong to their respective authors/owners/publishers/studios.  This is a work of fan-authored fiction purely for the purpose of entertainment.

 

Now, on with the show!

**Prologue:**

**A Very Harry Happening**

“Please tell me I’m actually dead this time.”

Harry’s voice came out in a deadpan as he opened his eyes in an all-too-familiar location.

He hadn’t been back to Platform 9 ¾ since leaving for his final (eighth) year of Hogwarts.

There was no need, as he had neither friends at the ancient school nor any children to send off.  Though he supposed Teddy was almost there, but it wasn’t yet September and that nightmare of first-year anxiety was months away.  Andromeda would handle most of it, as she’d done with the rest of the day-to-day of raising his godson/her grandson.  But Harry would still be the one the young Lupin would lean on for those first-day jitters.

Well.

He would have been.

But being a Hit Wizard wasn’t exactly all sunshine and roses, and Harry had already beaten the odds more than once.

Moreover, he’d recognized that sickly-purple spell the newest wave of wizarding-cult-followers had shot at him.  Hell.  He’d _used_ the _Sectumsempra_ more than once in the line of duty.

He’d felt it hit across his upper chest and neck.

He’d felt himself get cold and his vision – finally corrected after reaching his majority and being able to request and pay for the expensive potion – fade out.

Harry had died.

Again.

Though maybe this time it would take, even if it would leave behind a grieving Teddy.

Harry didn’t try and fool himself.

After he’d thrown off everyone’s expectations, taking up his seats in the Wizengamot and going after his Inheritance that everyone had _somehow_ neglected to mention *cough, Dumbledore, cough, Weasleys, cough*, not many people _would_ miss him other than his godson.

He imagined that even Andromeda, stern matriarch that she was, would only miss having his support and more importantly his _name_ to throw around, more than him himself.

No.

Going back to Hogwarts, not what the Ministry wanted or the public expected, but still within the “allowable” realm of behavior.

Accepting all his vaults, his titles, and his responsibilities, well, it wasn’t what anyone _wanted_ for him, per se, but it wasn’t beyond the pale _either_.

It was when he entered Hit Wizard training instead of Auror Academy that people started to _twitch_.

Harry was already considered volatile, powerful, and somewhat dangerous.

Joining the ranks of witches and wizards who were the Wizarding World’s version of Special Forces crossed with MI6…that started up a tone of _concern_ , though it was levied in part that as a Hit Wizard he was ostensibly under the aegis of the Ministry and all-was-still-well.

It was also the first real strike against the tidy “plan” that had been set in motion for his life, ever since he was born and likely before he was even conceived.

The Wizarding World liked things neat and tidy in their little labeled boxes.

Potters were Aurors.

Malfoys were Politicians.

Blacks were eccentric (or flat-out crazy) Nobles.

And so on, into infinity.

But Harry bucked centuries of tradition and went into the more dangerous field of being a Hit Wizard, which carried with it a ten-year expiration date: either you died before then (which was ninety percent of them) or you retired and either taught the oncoming young-bloods or transferred into the DMLE either as an administrator of some kind or as an Auror.

Harry’s ten-year mark was coming up soon, and he’d made it despite curses, hexes, vampires (and wasn’t _that_ a fun case…) and now this new muggleborn-driven cult that wanted, irony of ironies, to tear down the Statute of Secrecy and usher in a world where wizard kind were benign rulers.

This shit just never ended.

It simply changed faces.

He could almost _hear_ Tom laughing from the gates of Hell where he was no doubt waiting for Harry to show up.

Harry had no illusions about himself.  Not anymore.  He might’ve made a middling-to-good godfather when he wasn’t dodging curses or blood-sucking-fiends, but he also killed his first man at the age of eleven and thereafter never really…stopped.

Oh, there were lulls, and sometimes it was creatures that he ended up _ending_ instead of people, but it was as if once his heart got a taste of death it never forgot it – or how easy it was to dole it out.

He had a survival instinct that was, even he could admit, second to none, surviving things that would have killed anyone else.

And this time that survival instinct was _screaming_ at him that he’d finally failed to listen to it in time.

Most of all…Harry was just tired.

Not so much of his job, he’d been damn _good_ as a Hit Wizard, nor of his role as godfather though he was glad that he’d got to at least spend the last ten years with Teddy.

But tired, oh yes, he was tired of other things.

Tired of the expectations of him to finally “settle down” with an appropriate Alpha and start popping out litters of pups, especially with his retirement from active duty Hit Wizard coming up.

Tired of having to explain, _again_ , that no, he wasn’t interested in Ginny for the five- _thousandth_ -time when he went to the Burrow for Sunday dinner.

Tired of Hermione trying to use him name and influence to direct the Wizarding World.

Tired of Ron trying to use their shared adventures to advance his Auror career.

Tired of being seen as everyone’s favorite bankroll, after all, _it wasn’t like he had any family to spend his galleons on, Harry_.

Just tired of all the bullshit.

And now, unless this was a potions-induced psychotropic trip, he could _finally_ rest.

Sighing, he blinked his eyes in the wake of the glowing-white-haze the Platform was covered in and wearily climbed to his feet, absently noticing that like his previous visit he was wearing the same clothes as he remembered before taking the death-blow but clean, though this time it was his Hit Wizard wear of gunmetal-grey Horntail dragonhide trousers, boots, and gloves matched with a goblin-forged steel-mail undershirt topping a soft cotton undervest and topped in turn by a wool long-sleeved tunic in dove grey, a basilisk-hide sleeveless dueling robe that had a hood and dropped to the top of his knee-high boots thrown over it all.  On the left side of his tunic was his rank as a Hit Wizard, no surprise that after nearly a decade in the field, it was of a Field Commander, the words embroidered in the same venom-green of his basilisk robe, with his call sign: Falcon, under it and the nine gunmetal-grey stars that signified each year of service.

His wand was missing from Horntail-hide holster on his right arm, having been dropped when he, well, _died_ , but he felt the comforting weight of his favorite knife still tucked inside his left boot.

“Sorry, son.”  He heard from behind him the voice was soothing and gentle but with an underlying rasp, Harry turning to face the speaker, one he didn’t think he’d ever met before in his life…unlike last time.  “But far be it for Death to forsake His Master in such a way.”

“Merlin.”  He cursed, rubbing at his tired emerald green eyes.  “For _once_ I wish it wasn’t me.”

Harry eyed the other man – if a man at all was what the other figure was.  He was…utterly normal in just about every way.  Harry knew operatives on the muggle side of things that would _kill_ to have his seeming blandness, that ability to be everyone and no one all at once.  Grey hair, a sober face that was handsome but not overly or memorably so, soft grey eyes, and dressed in a muggle suit in black with a mandarin collar, there was nothing remarkable about him not his looks, his middling height, nothing.

Nothing at all, save his voice that had a resonance that struck at the very heart of Harry.

“But it is you.”  Death said, folding his hands elegantly before him, watching Harry with a sort of paternal pride and care.  “You are the last of the Peverells, the last of my chosen Wizards.  You collected all my Hallows, and yet never sought them.  And you who cast them away, breaking and burning the wand, turning the stone to powder, only keeping the last, the Cloak that was handed down from father-to-son, for your own.”  There was no mistaking it, Death was _proud_ of him.  Proud and entertained, unless Harry’s instincts were off.  “There is no other I would have ever chosen – nor did I, when I gave the Three my Gifts and sent them out into the world.  I always knew it would be you, Harry.  And I’m very glad it was.”

“Omniscience…great.”  Harry said with a sigh, barely holding in an eye roll.  He was tempted to give into sarcasm but had enough self-preservation, even while mostly-dead, to refrain in the presence of a deity…of some kind.  “To recap: you met my ancestors, gave them the Hallows, all so that I would become your Master, which I never wanted to be in the first place.”  Harry held out his arms in a _Here-I-Am_ gesture.  “Now what?”

“That is, for the first time,” Death gave him a gentle look of understanding.  “Entirely up to you, son.  Should you wish it you can return to your life, knowing that you are my Master and therefore will have a problem staying dead.  If you wish, you can summon the Hallows to you before you return.  Or you can choose to go on: either to your well-deserved rest having lived a half-life or…”

Harry knew he was going to regret this but his damned-infernal curiosity would torture him for ages if he didn’t do it.  “Or…?”

“You will never have the life you want, the life you were _meant_ to have before Fate meddled with you, if you go back.”  Death looked unbearably _pissed-off_ at the mention of Fate meddling.  Something to think on later, as well as what it implied about both entities? Deities?  Whatever.  A problem for another time.  “Nor can you remain in these Crossroads without becoming a wraith yourself, even the Master of Death is still human, and this is not a place for a soul such as yours.”

“Then I can go on.”  Harry said softly, voice wistful as he stared off at something only he could see.  He could almost _hear_ the voices of his parents, of Sirius and Remus and even Severus, calling out to him.  “To my rest.”  The quirk of his lips was nothing short of bitter.  “I rather think I’ve _earned_ that much.”

“Yes, I daresay you have.”  Death agreed easily with that much.  “You have single-handedly at times and jointly at others, saved no less than _millions_ of lives, both magical and otherwise by your deeds.  You were a true hero in your life and have earned a hero’s rest.  However, there is _another_ path that you might take.”  Death’s eyes gleamed with unearthly brightness for a moment.  “This is, after all, a Crossroads: there are more choices than merely forwards or back.”

“Such as?”

“I can return you to another time in your same world, with all your same knowledge and powers.”  Death waved his arms, and several trains pulled into the station, the first an inky black, the second a blinding white, the third a dove grey, and the last an emerald green.  “I can send you back to your life the very moment you were struck down, merely with a lesser wound, I can send you onwards to your rest, or,” Death’s smile was too toothsome to be comforting.  “I can send you to a place _outside_ of the influences that have thus far guided your life.  The choice, my son, is up to you.”

“I know I don’t want to go back to the way things were.”  Harry admitted with a sigh, Death nodding and the white train disappearing.  “I’m tired of playing their hero.”  He thought for a moment and gave a sneer.  “And as _tempting_ as it is to go back to another time in my own world, to change things, make them better,” he snorted.  “I’ve already bled enough for _them_ ; why should they have any more of me?”

“Why, indeed?”  Death asked lowly, waving an arm and the black train fading away.

Honestly, the deity hadn’t been sure if _this_ Harry would choose to go back and “fix-it” as many other Harrys have.  After all, as quantum cosmology put it: everything that can happen _will_ happen in opposite and parallel universes.  This is merely the first time _this_ Harry has stood before him and they’ve had a version of this same conversation.

Though granted when you thought of it that way, this was the first time _this Death_ has done so as well.

It was enough to give a deity a headache…if deities got headaches.

“Which only leaves the question:” Harry said to himself, staring at the two trains.  “Do I rest, or do I bite the apple that’s been offered to tempt me?”

“It isn’t poisoned; I can reassure you of that much.”  Death smirked.  “But neither is that choice without struggle or conflict.  Choosing to step outside of our influences will lose you your inability to stay dead for one: where you go I would not be able to extend my grasp.  But at the same time, Fate won’t be able to toy with you any longer: you will also be outside of _Her_ reach.”

“What else can you tell me?”

“I can give you the information about that world you’ll need to survive the first thirty days.”  Death folded his arms in front of his chest, a knowing arch to his brow.  “Anything outside of that, you’ll have to bargain for: Death may be neutral, and you my Master, but there are _rules_ to such things that even we cannot disobey.”

“You said I can summon the remains of the Hallows.”  Harry lit on what Death meant almost immediately.  “What can I ask for in exchange for returning them to you?”

“The Wand was a weapon to best all others.”  Death intoned solemnly, a chilling reverb in his voice.  “I can supply you with one that with practice and work will be the same.  The Stone was designed to recall a loved one from Me: I can show you where something similar lies.  And the Cloak when mastered and used wisely could hide anyone from even Me: I can grant you the skill to do the same in your new home.”

“A weapon, a panacea, and a skill.”  Harry summed up, turning it over and over in his mind.  “What about my other things?  Can I have any of them in my new life?”

“I cannot touch that that isn’t yours alone.”  Death said slowly, thinking of how best to word his answer.  “But there will be things I can send along with you as part of your ‘grace period’ as it were.”

“What isn’t mine alone…hmm…”  Harry pondered that.  “The contents of my trust vault and my personal work vault then.”  He decided fit the bill.  “Only in a bottomless trunk or bag from my vault and made into a form that won’t draw attention.  My clothes, say all my Hit Wizard uniforms save for my dress uniform that I’ll be buried in, and my boots.  My personal potions store.  Everything else I suppose all belongs to Teddy now…or was my own inheritance and not strictly _mine_.”

“It shall be as you ask, if a new home is the choice you make.”  Death agreed with a regal incline of his head.  “Save for things that cannot or will not function in your new home, that is.  There may be artefacts and the like that won’t work where you’re going.”

“I think we both know what I’ve decided.”  Harry drawled with a half-smile.  “I’m tired enough to want to rest, but still _curious_ enough to take your bait.  Send me on: to a place where those that have influenced my life cannot touch me.”

“As you wish.”  Death nodded his head and the green train disappeared, leaving only the dove grey in its place to carry Harry onward.  “It shall be done: Master of Death.”  The deity looked far off for a moment and smoke and vapor started to climb from the engine’s smokestack.  “What shall your name be, Master, in your new life?”  He asked several moments later after Harry had carried through with his half of the bargain and summoned the Hallows, setting them down on the bench beside him.

“I’ve always wanted to be just Harry.”  The green-eyed wizard said with a little laugh.  “But unless I’m going back in time as well as far away, I don’t think that’ll cut it.”

“No, son.”  Death chuckled a little as he made several things materialize in his lean hands.  “It won’t.”

He handed the items over to Harry, the wizard arching a brow at the all-too-familiar sword though this time it was housed in a basilisk hide sheath, likely the only thing that could protect the bearer or others from its deadly venomous blade.  Rolling his eyes a bit at the vicious grin on Death’s face, Harry threw the buckled sheath on over his robe, settling it onto his back with the ease of someone who has undergone serious weapons training as a Hit Wizard.  It wouldn’t be the first time he’d used a sword in the last decade, though he – or anyone for that matter – hadn’t seen _this_ one since Neville killed Nagini with it.

Harry had to admit, as far as trades go, an unbeatable Wand for a poisonous, deadly sword wasn’t a bad deal.

Even if the rubies made it a bit flashy for his taste.

Next went on the plain black canvas bag, likely containing the things he’d asked for that “belonged” to him, Death tapping the small pocket on the front of the bag.

“Inside you’ll find the directions to the panacea…but be careful.”  Death warned.  “Read the information I’ve provided _thoroughly_ before you go injecting yourself or anyone _else_ with it.  A cure can quickly become a plague if it isn’t handled correctly.”

“I understand.”  Harry nodded once, sharply.  “Will I understand the information with my current level of knowledge?”

“Once I’ve given you the information you’ll need to survive and your new skill-set: yet.”  Death smirked a little.  “Though I would wager that even without it you would’ve figured it out…in time.”

“Okay then…”  Harry shrugged on the pack over top of the sheath but not so it was blocking the hilt of the sword and preventing a clean draw.  “Anything else?”

“Just this.”  Quick as a viper, Death reached out and pressed the palm of one hand to Harry’s forehead.

The smaller figure screamed and writhed in place as information was literally _shoved_ into his mind, tearing through his mental barriers like tinfoil and making his nose drip blood from the strain.

“Fuck!”  He cried out as Death finally let him loose, hunching over with his hands on his knees.  “What the fuck was that?!”

“That.”  Death answered dryly as he escorted Harry over to the open door of the waiting train.  “Was what you can call an information download.  Not pleasant in the least, but effective.  You’ll survive what’s coming now.”  He waved one hand to the open doors, beckoning Harry forward.  “Or at least, you should.  Meditate while you travel, where you’re going is no little distance away…and you’ll need to be prepared for anything the moment you arrive.”

“Okay.”  Harry blew out a breath.  “Be prepared, survive, any other advice before we part ways, hopefully for a long, _long_ time?”

“Just one:” Death said softly, the paternal mien returning.  “This life has taught you to block yourself off from others, to withhold your trust and guard your heart: and those were and are necessary skills for you to survive.  But.”  He held up a warning hand when Harry went to protest.  “But, there will come a time when you’ll _need_ to trust to survive, and to open your heart if you want to live…and not just survive.”

Harry nodded, once, shortly, jaw clenched at the implied censure.

As if he hadn’t heard similar things before, most recently from Andromeda, over his shunning of Alphas and even Betas, who were brought to him in an attempt to matchmake.

“Harry Potter Black.”  He decided, ignoring the opportunity to respond to Death’s advice.  “That’ll be my name.  Harry P. Black.”

“Very well.”  Death nodded, the doors beginning to close.  “Your destination is an island called Lían Yú, located in the East China Sea, the year is 2006 where you’re going…and magic doesn’t truly exist in that world, not as you know it here…though there _are_ things that count among the supernatural to be found.”

“Ok.”  Harry said stepped back before cocking his head and asking one last question: “What does Lían Yú mean?”

Death grin was borderline malicious as he answered, raising his voice just enough to be heard over the closing doors and the squeal of the train wheels.

“ _Purgatory_.”

…

Harry laughed darkly as he settled into a compartment on the moving train.  The irony was, even he had to admit, rather wonderful.  He passed up a chance on his afterlife and gave up his not-dying-thing only to land in a place named Purgatory.

It had a delicious sense of symmetrical macabre to it that he enjoyed, even as he wondered and worried about some of the things Death implied – or out-right stated about his “new world.”

No magic for one – or at least – not as he understood it.

That was worrisome, making him unsure about whether his _own_ magic would work.  Or not.  Or just a little.  Which was all somewhat moot as he didn’t have a wand _anyway_ and he only had a few skills in his wandless repertoire.

Don’t get him wrong, they were dead _useful_ skills to have, which was why he’d taken the time and massive effort to learn them wandless: _Epsikey, Tergeo, Stupefy, Allohomora, Accio,_ and _Windgarium Leviosa,_ none of which are necessarily high-level spells but could be learned wandless and even wordless, as he’d done.

The only other magical skills he had that could be done without a wand were his Animagus transformation and a few blood-based rituals he knew for warding that he had to learn to take control of his family properties as well as Grimmauld Place.

That was if using his magic didn’t fry whatever electronics he was around, as since this wasn’t a magical world he was going to, and the year 2006, electronics were going to be a fact of life as Death had referenced the East China Sea, meaning _Earth_.

Even if he didn’t recall an East China Sea from his geography lessons in primary school.

So it might be a _different_ Earth, and surely was, but still Earth all the same.

Sinking into his meditation to process the migraine-inducing information overload he’d gotten, Harry arched a brow at one of the first things he found: his new skill-set.

Part of being a Hit Wizard was undergoing a course with the muggle military on survivalism, as well as tracking and bringing down targets.  What he’d gotten in exchange for the Cloak was a different set of skills _entirely_ , though not one that was completely alien due to the aforementioned training.  It was what his trainer/mentor for the Hit Wizards called “Ghost Training” and something Harry hadn’t gotten into as he was slotted into the Hit Wizards when they were short “Tanks”, powerhouses that were mostly used to cause shock, awe, and leave a wave of destruction in their wake.  With his magical core, and proven ability to deal damage, making him into a Tank-Class Hit Wizard simply made sense over the other two classes which were Proteus-Class a kind of jack-of-all-trades that filled in the blanks between Tanks and Ghosts, and the Ghost-Class which were the lone-wolves of the Hit Wizards.  Ghosts were able to adapt to any surroundings, survive any terrain or environment, gathering intelligence or taking out threats as needed.

Needless to say, Tanks and Ghosts rarely worked together, mainly backed up by Proteus who were the bulk and the back-bone of the Hit Wizards.

Altogether, Harry would wager that there were only ever a handful of fully-trained Tanks or Ghosts in the ranks at any given time, whereas all the rest were Proteus.

Wave after wave of instinct, skills, and habits flooded his mind as the information Death gave him to ensure he’d survive the first month met and married up with the skill-set he’d bargained for, Harry suddenly just _knowing_ that Purgatory was in the East China Sea meant that he would have to deal with monsoons, frigid cold, and sweltering heat as well as all the health problems those things made.  Unless he found a way off the island, which he winced as more information slotted home, was supposed to be deserted.  Yay.  Uninhabited meant a wildlife population, and his new skills told him how best to stay safe, warm, and fed in a jungle-type environment.

Apparently caves were now his friends as long as they weren’t the type to flood during the monsoon season.

Who knew?

Not Harry before now.

Another piece of information, more of a whisper than a shout, which from what he could tell meant it was unconfirmed info of the whisper/gossip sort, told him that the island was used as, a, Merlin Death was laughing at him, _motherfucking prison_.

“Well.”  He murmured as piece by piece his new skills and information settled into place.  “At least now I know why Death gave me a damn _sword_.  I might very well have to use it if there’s hostiles in the area despite it supposedly being uninhabited.”

…

Feeling muzzy-headed and still fighting off a migraine, Harry knew when he was close to his destination, sensing the motion of the train slowing down.

Standing and shaking his head, he took a deep breath, steeling himself to step out and into a life filled with unknown challenges – save that it _was_ going to be a challenge, Death would’ve have given him the information, the tools and skills he had, if it was going to be an easy coast to easy street.

No, Harry chuckled, somehow a soft, easy life wasn’t ever in the cards for him.

But if he was honest with himself, that sounded boring as shit anyway.

Stretching up onto his toes, he mentally thanked restoration/nutrition potions as well as a late-teens growth spurt that he wasn’t a damn shrimp anymore.  Being stuck at well-below average height and weight for a male of European extraction would’ve _sucked_ , especially undergoing his weapons training and physical combat training to be a Tank.  Granted, even with magical help he didn’t hit the 6’ 3” of his Alpha father or even the 6’ 1” of his godfather, but an even six-foot-flat was a lot better than the 5’ 6” he was when he faced off against Voldemort.

Magic had also helped his eating issue – or rather the involuntary eating disorder he’d gotten from years of sustained and systematic neglect and abuse – which in turn helped him pack on pounds in the form of muscle, even if he’d never be as “smooth” as an Omega was supposed to be.

Omegas – while they could be tall, and if they were male often were due to the double-set of internal sex organs they had, unlike the double-external of female Alphas – were, supposedly, smooth and lithe with more curves than angles.

Harry was none of that.

It started as being nothing but muscle, skin, and bone from his childhood, but even with a specialized diet, exercise, and potions regiment, Harry would still never be the “ideal” Omega physically.

And he was fine with that, since as far as he could tell, he wasn’t an ideal Omega in any other way _either_.

It was easy enough to guess at a child’s dynamic as they grew, there were some general markers and behaviors for each, but that was only in a “general” setting.  Add in things like abusive/neglectful relatives, manipulative magical guardians, and a megalomaniac and his merry band of murderers out for one’s head, and their behavior wasn’t likely to reflect their dynamic.  Case in point: Harry.

Everyone _assumed_ that the “Savior” would present, naturally, as an Alpha when he turned seventeen and hit his magical majority.  Non-magicals presented at between fourteen and twenty depending on a lot of factors like environment and stress.  But magicals _always_ presented at seventeen.

It sure as shit was a shock to his system – and everyone _else’s_ – when he walked down the stairs on his seventeenth and Moody pegged him as an Omega.

Which also had the handy side benefit of fucking up the bonding contract Dumbledore had arranged before his death that bonded “Alpha” Harry J. Potter to the assumed-Beta Ginevra Weasley.

Ginny proved to be a Beta in the end.

But no one – at least in their right mind – would try and bond a Beta to an Omega.

At least not alone.  In a bonded triad or bonded harem with an Alpha involved, sure.  That worked.  Just not singly, Beta/Omega.

Nope.

Snow-cones-in-hell would happen first, much to Ginny’s fury.

And as the contract was written for an _Alpha_ , Omega Harry had no obligation to fulfill it, no matter how idiotically Ron and his sister tried to coerce him into doing so.

Steadying himself as the train slowed to a stop, the doors cracking open and showing a dense jungle to his right with a beach and ocean to his left, Harry took one last look around the train and closed his eyes, shifting into his Animagus form – that of a black, grey, and cream peregrine falcon, the fastest bird of prey on Earth, with a faint emerald ring in his eyes – and took wing, quickly soaring up high above the beaches, jungles, cliffs, and grasses of Lían Yú, and studying it with a canny eye from high above.

From what he could tell, both Lían Yú and the neighboring islands _were_ , in fact, uninhabited, but that didn’t make it a solid-gold truth.

If someone either lived or was imprisoned on his new – however long or temporarily – home, they could very well have the skills necessary to fly under the radar as it were.

A thought that was backed up, when thanks to his keen hearing and vision in this form, Harry narrowly avoided an arrow whistling through the air towards him with a disdainful harsh “kak kak kak” that was much rougher and more guttural than a raven’s caw.

Soaring high, he ruffled his feathers in disgruntlement once he was safely out of range of the bowman who was stationed somewhere on the southwestern cliffs.

That answered _that_.

Even with having a pair of arrows shot at him, he still didn’t know where the bowman was, nor did he catch any sight of him beyond his flying missiles.

So, odds were, that if there were any other prisoners on Lían Yú that they were just as good as the archer at remaining undetected.

Good to know.

There was no way, now that he knew the island was occupied – in some fashion – that he was going to stay here long.  Just long enough to process and practice the information Death had given him.  And, oh yeah, _heal_ from the damned _Sectumsempra_ that killed him.

It was only a deep slice or two across his upper chest now, but it still could kill him yet if he didn’t take care of it.

Thankfully, it had scabbed over enough that he wasn’t leaving a massive blood trail as he flew, eventually alighting far inland near what looked like a lake, easily scouting out a cave nearby.

Winging his way into the cave, following a narrow system that was too small for a human to navigate, he eventually came out into a wide chamber that was completely dry save for the pool at one end that was fed by an underground source.  Shifting back, he followed his newfound skills and instincts, searching for any sign of water marks or the growth of mold, fungi, or rot that would suggest that the cavern flooded during the monsoon season.  Not discovering any, he gave a relieved sigh, knowing that at least he would be safe from human dangers in his hideaway, and rolling his head on his shoulders shrugged out of the pack and sword, setting them down on a cluster of raised rock formations near the wall opposite the pool.

It wasn’t a large enough water source to bathe in, not that he would want to foul his drinking water anyway, and he’d need to test it for safety, but if it was safe or at least treatable, Harry thought he’d found a base to call home while he honed his new skills and adapted to a life lived mostly without magic.

“Maybe now’s the time to try and train up some other wandless spells.”  He told himself as he dug out his potions supply and started sorting his other supplies.

He knew there wouldn’t be food – and Merlin, but he was hungry – but there might be a med kit or other things that he didn’t realize were covered under the “his personal property” clause of his deal.

A nutrition potion – thanks to his paranoia over keeping a full potions stock for emergencies after living on the run for a year – took the edge off his hunger even if it didn’t sate it, allowing him to focus on his job of sorting his stuff out – and then repacking it all over again.

If it wasn’t something useful on a mostly-deserted island – like the gold, silver, and bronze from his vaults – he stuffed it away in several of the bottomless pouches he’d had in his vaults and put them in the very bottom of his pack.

Semi-useful things – books, excess clothing, etc. – went into another bag on top of the useless items, while the actually of-use supplies went into a variety of the outer pockets of the pack, Harry taking the time to remove the information on the panacea while he was at it and repurpose that pocket.

One med kit found, potions taken, and bandages applied, Harry spread out his Hit-Wizard issued all-weather all-terrain sleeping bag, already knowing that he’d need to get used to always sleeping clothed and armed again, something he hadn’t done since survival training and then the Horcrux hunt before that.

On top of his potions supply, and the med kit that he thought came from under his bathroom sink, Harry had found several more knives, most of which went into various places on him before the overflow went into his pack, matches, that day’s Daily Prophet (at least it would make starting a fire easier), and other small personal items like his hygiene products, Hit Wizard gear, and other odds and ends.

It wasn’t a supply meant to sustain him forever, that was for sure, and he’d have to hunt first thing in the morning and gather some of the herbs and plants from the island that his new information said were good for eating or other things, but all in all…could be worse.

Yeah.

Definitely could be worse.

…

Time-Line:

For ease of understanding the rough order of events, I’ve made up this timeline which is the closest I can come to figuring out where things would actually occur in the pre-series events.  There aren’t any spoilers here if you haven’t seen the show, if anything it’ll probably be a little off because I couldn’t find a good timeline to reference…so I made my own.

1993 – Malcolm Merlyn joins League of Assassins

200? – Yao Fei is imprisoned by Chinese government on Lían Yú

2005 – Harry “steps off the train” onto Lían Yú and into his new world.  (2008 in his world, Harry is 28.)

2006 – Fyers and his men arrive on Lían Yú looking for Yao Fei

2006 – Slade Wilson and Billy Wintergreen, known as the duo “Deathstroke”, arrive to evac Yao Fei

2007 – The Queen’s Gambit is sunk; Oliver Queen makes it to Lían Yú

2012 – Oliver Queen is discovered alive on Lían Yú, returns to Starling City


	2. One - Lian Yu

** Al Darbat Qatila **

**Chapter One: Lían Yú**

_Hong Kong 2012_

“Mr. Queen.”  The pleasant Chinese doctor of indeterminate age spoke to him softly as Oliver stared out the window, wondering idly how long it’ll take for his identity to be processed and he can go back to Starling City.

He didn’t want to call it home.

No.

That word meant something else to him now.

Or rather, _someone_ else.

But back he would go nonetheless, as word of the crime rates and corruption had finally shaken him out of his self-imposed exile over the last however-long.

“Yes, Dr. Bo?”  Oliver asked, voice rasping from long-term disuse.  His box and its contents had finally been returned by the Hong Kong police, now all that he was waiting for was clearance on an emergency passport and his family jet.

“There was an issue with your DNA test…”

_…_

_Starling City, three days later_

“Starling City celebrates as long-missing and presumed dead playboy socialite and Alpha, Oliver Queen, was found alive five years after his disappearance by fishermen in the East China Sea on an island known to locals as ‘Lían Yú’.”

Malcolm Merlyn watched the news cast – merely the latest in the massive storm of reports on Oliver’s survival – with furrowed brows and a conflicted heart.

He’d sent some of his contacts in Hong Kong to ferret out what information they could about young Oliver’s status, what he’d said to the police, and whatever they could find really, and what they had to report back was…alarming to say the least.

Over twenty percent of Oliver’s body was covered in burns, brands, tattoos, and scar tissue of varying ages.

As well as his dynamic being reported as something most definitely _other_ than Alpha.

And if that wasn’t enough…

There were the results of the DNA test.

He’d long felt that his _weakness_ as an Alpha was shown in the act that he now knew created Oliver.

He’d loved Rebecca, loved her still, but as a Beta she’d been unable to bond with him.

And Moira, cunning, _fertile_ Omega Moira had taken advantage of that when Robert had come home smelling of his latest affair and she was on the cusp of going into heat.

He didn’t bond with the bitch.

No, that was all Robert’s mess, he’d not betrayed his beloved wife _that_ deeply.

But apparently he _had_ fathered her eldest pup.

And that was a complication in light of Oliver’s survival of the Gambit sinking that he wasn’t sure how to handle.

Not yet.

But perhaps, in time, and depending on how Oliver himself reacts, a solution might appear to him.

Sitting back in his chair, Malcolm muted the news cast and sipped slowly at his bourbon as the stock market reports scrolled by.

Yes, he decided.

He would wait and let Oliver take the first step.

After all…Malcolm had no _official_ knowledge of the situation.

And even before he’d been subjected to god-knows-what Oliver had been…tempestuous to say the least.

No.  Better to play this smart and safe.  There was no need to show his hand too early.

Which meant that the Undertaking would need to be placed on hold…if only for the moment.

Slow, steady, and patient…that was the magic concoction that would win the day yet.

And no one did it better than Malcolm Merlyn.

…

_East China Sea, off the shore of Lían Yú, 2006_

Oliver raised bleary, salt-burned eyes to the horizon, barely able to believe it when two days ago he saw the faint bumps of what _might_ be land as he shared his life-raft with the corpse of his father, the stranger having fallen into the sea from the force of Robert’s gun-shot.  Now after hours spent taking turns resting and weak paddling, the coast was clear and within sight.  Which was good, because the food had run out the day before and he only had another day or two worth of water.

At which point, even an eighteen-year-old with – as his father used to say – more balls than sense knew, meant that he’d be officially screwed.

This trip was a mistake from before he’d even left.

His mother, an Omega bonded to his Alpha father despite the fact that they sleep in separate wings apart from her heats, had thrown a fit over his end-of-year report card from his latest prep school, blaming his current – or rather _late_ – girlfriend the sixteen-year-old Sara Lance for his lackluster grades.

His father, in perennial disappointment mode that started somewhere when he was fifteen, had simply grumbled about having to buy his way into an Ivy-League school.

Oliver gave a bitter laugh.

That combination of histrionics and disappointment had driven him into inviting Sara along on his annual yacht trip with his dad, this time heading for Hong Kong.

Three days out, during a massive storm no less, everything went to hell.

He didn’t know how he would ever forgive himself for Sara.  First for inviting her, and then for being helpless and utterly _useless_ as she was sucked down into the raging sea.  He was an Alpha, wasn’t he?  What good were advanced senses, strength, and reflexes (though he’d yet to see any of the strength) if he couldn’t use them to save his girlfriend?

Then…his dad…had…

No.

He couldn’t think about that, not with the end in sight.

Though taking in the empty shoreline, he couldn’t think of _what_ kind of end it might be.

Just that it was an end.

As he drifted closer, Oliver made plans to drag the inflatable raft with his father’s body in it up the slight slope he saw to the clifftop, hoping to at least dig out a shallow grave for him there.  There were plenty of stones to use to cover it, and mark the grave.  Afterwards…well, he guessed he’d get to that when he got to that.

Finally making landfall, Oliver did just that, after taking a moment to find his land-legs after several days of disuse and little-to-no nourishment, he was shaky to say the least.

Kneeling up on top of the cliff head, hands cracked and bleeding, caked in dirt and sand and grit, Oliver rose and looked out, seeing nothing he recognized, no sign of civilization anywhere.

This place – wherever it was – might as well be the dark side of the moon.

…

_Starling General Hospital, Starling City, 2012_

Moira Queen stared with hopeful yet disbelieving eyes through the glass into the observation room with its double beds.

Her son.

Her first pup, he was _home_.  He was _alive_ and _home_.

At the moment, that was all she really cared about, not even the horrific contents of his medical file that her contact in the hospital had relayed to her could dent her combination of utter joy…and terrified fear.

 _What did Oliver know?_   Ran through her mind ever since the report of his recovery reached her.  _Did Robert survive?  If not, did he survive long enough to_ tell _Oliver anything?_

She wouldn’t put it past the cheating bastard.

Bad enough that he’d gotten them entangled with his brother-in-law’s Undertaking in the first place, but then to try and back _out_?  She held in a growl.  It was a mistake that _almost_ cost her, her son.

Listening to the doctor dance around HIPPA violations to relay what he could in a legal manner, she couldn’t even say that Robert’s spite and stupidity _hadn’t_ cost her Oliver.

That body leaning against the wall by the window might as well be a stranger, he was so different from the boy who’d left on her bond-mate’s yacht.

Let alone the fact that Oliver didn’t return _alone_.

“Mrs. Queen,” the doctor gave a put-upon sigh.  “You are well-aware that I cannot release private, patient information.  However, I can say that Oliver seems to be relatively healthy.”

“But?”  She prodded, hearing the tone in his voice.

“All I can say is that the son who left may not be the one you got back.”  The man had a knowing look on his face, well aware that the indomitable Moira Queen had likely already gotten her mitts on her son’s medical records.  “The best thing you can do in a case like this is let him take things at his own pace and readjust to life here.  Realizing that what he makes of it _now_ may be vastly different than whatever plans he had _then_ , especially as he’s a grown Alpha and no longer a boy.”

“Thank you, doctor.”  Moira dismissed him with a polite smile as the other figure in the room stood and moved to her son’s side.  “I think you’ll find that I am more than capable of handling my own son.”

…

“It’s different than I expected.”

Oliver turned and gave the other man a half-smile from where he stood by the window, the emerald-eyed man standing with his lithe grace and stalking towards him.  He thought, not for the first time, that his code name should have been Cat or Jaguar or something similar.  Not Falcon, though he understood now, years after first hearing the nickname, where it’d come from.

Unless you were in-the-know about Harry’s special abilities, it was hard to see where the designation came from…until you saw him either shift form or fight.

With stunning speed and devastatingly hard blows, Harry was just as much a peak predator in his human skin as in his other form.

“What did you expect?”  Oliver asked as Harry came to stand beside him, the older man easily linking their fingers together in a show of long-held affection and solidarity.

“From your stories and your fa-adoptive father’s,” he corrected himself with a wince thinking about _that_ little bombshell that’d been laid on the archer.  It hadn’t gone down well.  To say the _least_.  “Mission…something between Disneyland and a cesspool of crime and corruption.”  He shrugged lightly looking up that bare-inch into Oliver’s lighter green eyes, with their tinge of blue.  “All I can see is another city, one a lot smaller than London, with a massive problem seething underneath the surface flash.”

“Hmm.”  Oliver hummed under his breath as he tugged Harry to come and stand in front of him, relishing in the role reversal from their early days, before he’d had his last growth spurt, and Harry used to do the same to him before he outgrew him – even if it only made him six-one to Harry’s six-even.  An inch taller was still taller.  “I’ve already set the works in motion to locate and purchase some low-key and not-so-low-key hideaways for us, burying them so deep no one will find them easily – if at all.”

“That’s good.”  Harry agreed, smiling lightly as he kept one eye on the progress of the blonde woman on the other side of the observation glass.  She’d stopped talking to the doctor a while ago and seemed to be gearing herself up to meet with Oliver for the first time in years.  It was easy enough to recognize Oliver’s mother, even though at first glance they didn’t share many features beyond the hair and the green-tint to Oliver’s sea-colored eyes, the resemblance was still there.  “I’ve already set in motion a purchase on a penthouse flat, it’s public and easily found, a good cover for our other less _public-friendly_ retreats.  I’m signing the paperwork tomorrow.  What about a base?  We can’t do everything in yours or ours, and the bolt-holes need to stay under the radar.”

“My da-Robert’s” Oliver corrected himself with a wince, blowing out a breath as the fresh wound stabbed at him.  So many secrets.  Will he ever uncover them all?  “Old Foundry in the Glades.  We’ll do something with the upper levels, a refurbishment of some kind for the area, put the base in below.”

“I’ll call our contacts for a safe contractor to use.”  Harry said, resting his cheek on Oliver’s strong shoulder for a moment before lifting his head.  “Make sure you separate everything you can from Queen funds.  If things bottom out we don’t want to lose our base or retreats because of Moira’s dirty little secret.”

“I wish you wouldn’t call it that.”  Oliver almost growled, narrowing his eyes for a moment on the other man.  “But, yes, I agree.  We don’t know if Robert knew or made contingencies – though if he did it explains _a lot_ – or if the stockholders or board will cause problems.  I’ve already made in-roads on moving what I can away from my trust and such but there’s not a whole lot I can legally do until I’m legally alive again.”  He grimaced _hating_ that he had to rely on his mother’s hospitality until he was “alive” again.  Well.  Except for his money hidden in off-shore bank accounts and his private holdings…but he’d rather not draw suspicion onto himself when he’s already going to be a hot topic with his “resurrection”.

“I have to talk to Anatoli anyway.”  Harry shrugged.  “He’s going to give me the contact here for the Bratva – which is a Commander by the way.  The area Colonel is in Central City.”

“Whatever works.”  Oliver agreed with a smirk.  “As long as we both contact them at some point.”

Harry nodded, easily accepting that.  They both were regarded well by their brothers in the Bratva.  But Starling City’s contingent didn’t know either of them from Adam.  They needed to make inroads with them before an emergency cropped up.

“I bought some Queen Consolidated and Merlyn Global stock this week while you were jumping through DNA hoops.”  Harry told him nonchalantly before leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to the underside of Oliver’s jaw.  “Seemed like a good investment.  Your mother’s coming.”

“I see her.”

Separating, Harry watched as a lost-vague look plastered itself over Oliver’s face, even down to his eyes losing some of their spark and gleam.

It never failed to awe Harry that for such a bad on-the-spot liar, Oliver was an amazing actor when he needed to be.

The door opened, ushering in the scents of Omega and fear and hope, the faint scent of an unfamiliar Alpha coasting just under the heavy splash of lavender perfume Moira had worn that morning to try and cover it up.

Oliver turned, his lost look visible for a moment before he locked eyes on the blonde, well-maintained Omega, his features brightening.

“Mom!”  He whispered gruffly, voice harsher than it had been moments before, as if he’d not used it much in recent times.  Striding over he enfolded the woman in his arms, burying his nose in the crook of her neck, her Omega scent lavender-roses-baby powder not as comforting as it once was in the wake of all the betrayals he’d faced – both recent and much, much older.  But still…he could pretend.  “Mom.”

Held close and tight by her son, the other man lost to her view in Oliver’s strong arms, Moira let herself sob though her eyes remained clear behind shuttered lids.

“Oliver.”  She cried, hands clenching at his hospital-issue scrub top.  “Oh my son, my boy.  You’re home.”

Sea-green/blue eyes met emerald over her blonde head, Harry giving Oliver a reassuring nod both pairs of eyes steely.

Showtime.

…

The car ride was…tense after the emotional reunion in the hospital.

Moira had brought a few things along from her son’s old clothes, but everything was much too small for either man to wear so they made due with the borrowed scrub tops and sweat-bottoms that they’d been given both in Starling City and Hong Kong.

Their personal wear was stowed tidily away in Harry’s – as Oliver dubbed it – “magical bag of holding” along with anything else that would draw questions.

Which didn’t leave them with much.

Oliver’s picture of his family that he’d found in Robert’s notebook, the notebook itself, and some odds-and-ends like the hozen Oliver wanted to give his sister and the carved wolf for Tommy.

Little things.

Innocuous things.

That concealed a much deeper and darker past than either man wanted to reveal – ever if they could help it.

“I can’t believe it.”  Oliver murmured, breaking the sound of his mother’s inane polite patter.  “It looks exactly the same.”  He said of the Queen Mansion.

And indeed it did, from what Oliver had told Harry of the place, reminding the Englishman very much of the houses and manors that belonged to the wealthy and noble in his old home – and driving home to him just _who_ Oliver was here.

Harry quirked an amused brow at Oliver.

It was like looking at some warped reflection of himself, somedays more than others.

They even had shitty childhoods and rich backgrounds to share.

Death certainly had a sense of humor.

Moira had already handed over an iPhone to Oliver, Harry waving off her apologies and holding up his Samsung that he’d gotten in Hong Kong with a polite: “I already have access to my holdings, ma’am, as I was never declared dead in the first place, I merely had to make a few calls to and from the British Embassy.”

Both men easily read the surprise, and the sharp suspicion, in Moira’s gaze at that, though his story was rock-solid.

No matter how deep she dug, she’d never find anything troubling about Harry P. Black, outside of his military and service record with MI-5.

Death was a thorough bugger, Harry had found, planting everything he would need in this world to have an identity, and what he hadn’t done, like back accounts, had been taken care of later.

He’d already gotten wind of people digging into both his and Oliver’s stories, most of them, but not all, tracing back to Starling City.

And more than half of those leading back to the grand dame before him, watching him carefully out of wary green eyes.

“What did you think they were going to do, love?”  Harry asked lightly, leaning forward and wrapping his arm around the other man as they exited the limo.  “Level the place and start over?”

“Prat.”  Oliver tossed back with a roll of his eyes, listening with half an ear as his mother told him Tommy would be there for dinner.

“Your prat.”  Harry murmured back before pushing him gently to enter the grand foyer just ahead of him as Moira chattered and charged on in the lead.

“Oliver,” they were greeted warmly by an Alpha that looked well at home coming down the stairs of the Queen Mansion, and smelled of Moira under his cologne and after shave.  “It’s good to see you, son.”

“Oliver.”  Moira fluttered about.  “You remember Walter Steele, your father’s best-friend.  He’s now CEO of Queen Consolidated.”

“Right.”  Oliver said with a short nod, accepting the handshake with a warm smile.  “Walter.  Good to see you.”

Before the tension could rise any higher, it was broken with a sharp “Ollie!”  Followed by the clatter of feet running down the stairs.

Harry watched with soft eyes, arms folded over his chest as he leaned against the foyer wall, as a brilliantly beaming young female Omega charged her brother head on, forcing Oliver to plant his feet or risk being bowled over by barely a hundred pounds of teenage girl, a girl who threw her arms around him and held on for dear life as he picked her up and spun her, his joy in the moment incandescent.

“Ollie, you’re back, you’re back!”  Thea Queen was rambling as Oliver stopped spinning and hugged her close.  “I never gave up on you, never!”

“It’s so good to see you, Speedy.”  Oliver said, head buried in her fall of rich brown hair.  “I’ve missed you so, so much.”

“I missed you too.”  Thea announced, pulling back and then pulling a laughing frown.  “Also: worst nickname _ever_.”

“Oh, I don’t know.”  Oliver laughed along with her, letting her pull back.  “I’ve always thought it was fitting with the way you ran around after me and Tommy.”

“Someone say my name?”  A laughing voice was followed by an Alpha scent as the tall, immaculately dressed figure Harry had spotted strutted into the room.  “I told you, Ollie: yachts suck.  Should’ve hung out with me at the beach in Cabo like every other rich high school grad.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”  Oliver muttered, rolling his eyes with a grin as he hauled the other man into a hug.  “You told me.  You told me.”

“Speaking of telling, Oliver.”  Moira interrupted lightly.  “Don’t you think you should introduce your…friend?”

“Bond-mate, Mom.”  Oliver corrected her with a sigh, watching as everyone’s – except Harry’s – eyes shot wide at the news.  “Mom, Thea, Tommy, Walter, this is Harry, my bond-mate.  Harry, this is…” he gave a little shrug.  “Everyone.”

“Bond-mate?”  Moira’s voice was soft with shock.  She’d had a thought…but no, no.  Oliver still _smelled_ like an Alpha.  Like he always had after she had…fixed things.  Then again, she’d seen their closeness but waved it off as an indiscretion or even a long-term fling that would easily be cast aside now that Oliver was home.

“I think.”  Walter broke in before a fight could be set off in the foyer, well aware of the _volatile_ nature of the family he’d bonded into.  “That this is a topic best discussed over dinner, Oliver?”

“Yes, of course, Walter.”  Oliver agreed with a slight nod.  “I think I still remember how to lead the way to the dining room.”  Wrapping an arm back around Harry, Oliver steered them unerringly towards the meal already laid out by the hovering Raisa, seating him at his side and closest to an escape through the kitchen – which also allowed them to have a clear view of the access points to the large room.

Topic dodged – for the moment – Thea and Tommy filled the dining room with chatter about things Oliver had missed in the last five years – pop culture, Super Bowl winners, the Kardashians – making for a somewhat pleasant meal with just a bit of lingering tension, tension that was amped back up when Raisa who had been fawning over Oliver through the meal, tripped.

Leaning back with their refined reflexes, Oliver steadied the older Omega while Harry saved the platter of fruit and delicate pastries from crashing to the floor, setting it gently on the center of the table as Oliver soothed Raisa in Russian.

Something which wasn’t able to pass without comment.

“I didn’t know you spoke Russian, Oliver.”  Walter said, as the pair of them were watched by the other diners.

“We both do, Walter.”  Harry told him smoothly, one of the first things he’d said all night.  “As I’m sure you’ve surmised, the island we were found on wasn’t _entirely_ vacant for the course of our stay.  One learns things.”

“I’m sure.”  Thea said archly over the rim of her glass.

“It’s always grand to meet a fellow Englishman.”  Walter beamed, ignoring the looks he was being shot by his bonded.  “If I’m not mistaken you’re from Surrey…I’m a London man myself, but your accent is a bit…”

“Off?”  Harry offered with a chuckle.  “And well it should be as I was a bit of a mixed bag long before I ended up marooned in the East China Sea.  You see,” he flexed is charm wide, easily ensnaring his audience and drawing their attention away from his and Oliver’s…adventures together.  “I was born in a little village in Wales, but then raised most of my life in Surrey apart from my time in a Scottish boarding school that had teachers from all over the isles.  I served in the military, but was mainly stationed in London.”  He shrugged.  “Then six years among all sorts did the rest of the muddying.”

“Six years?”  Tommy latched onto that with no-little amount of shock.  “You were a castaway even longer than Ollie?”

“By about a year, as best as I can tell: yes.”  Harry nodded, thinking it over.  “It’s hard to say in a place like that, and I’ve never been one for counting days.”

“No.”  Oliver said, hand stroking Harry’s thigh lightly in thanks under the table.  “That you aren’t.  Well.”  He stood, linking hands with Harry as he made the rounds of the table.  “We’re both exhausted from the flight and the medical workup, so if you don’t mind, we’ll head up.”

“Your…Harry…is staying?”  Moira questioned with an arched brow and pursed lips.

“Bond-mate, Mother.”  Oliver chided with a sigh.  “Either we’ll be here or at the place Harry’s bought in the city.  But either way: yes.  We’ll be together.”

...

_Lian Yu, 2007_

Between being shot by a guy in a hood, having said guy in a hood save him, fighting off an infection, and then being forced to kill his own food with an ominous warning attached, Oliver didn’t think things could get much worse on the island.

Turns out he was wrong, as one day it started raining and _it didn’t stop_.

Not for months.

Months that he spent learning – very, very _slowly_ – how not to die on an island where apparently everyone would want to kill him first and ask questions _never_.

And that didn’t even include the wolves, and the bugs, and the damn _snakes_.

Oliver was willing to admit, that when he thought of being marooned on an island, this was _not_ the sort of hell he had in mind.

Though he sure as shit was growing up quick and not just his maturity or his ability to _not die_ either (he couldn’t quite bring himself to call what he was doing _surviving_ yet, despite Yao Fei’s best efforts, he knew he’d be dead in days if not hours without the older man) but if his pants were to be believed, his body had kicked in a late growth spurt.

Worst timing _ever_ , considering the hardship hunting and gathering sometimes involved in the pouring down rain.

But, as it turned out, that wasn’t even the worst of it.

No.

This fucked up, funky fever he’d had off and on for the last week was going to kill him.

Nothing helped, not even Yao Fei’s magic herbs.

That was what they’d tried two days ago.  Yesterday, Yao Fei had left with his typical “Survive, Foolish.” in Mandarin, Foolish being what the man had “blessed” him with as a nickname after a stumble that almost left him going for another dip in the ocean, taking off for parts unknown.

Oliver groaned as a sharp pain shot through his lower abdomen.

Okay.

That was new.

Maybe Yao Fei _had_ finally given him food poisoning, the older man’s cooking ability pretty much limited to various herbal teas (that tasted like ass) and roasting game over flame.

It would at least explain the fever and the pains…but Oliver didn’t think that was it.

No, if it was something simple like that then there was no _way_ Yao Fei would’ve had to take off to figure out something to fix it.  Or at least keep him from dying in the process.  Whatever it was…it certainly felt like it was doing its best to kill him.

After what seemed like forever – but was probably only a day and a half at most – Oliver finally heard the sounds of Yao Fei’s light footsteps approaching the cave.

Except he was talking.

And he wasn’t alone.

…

_Starling City, 2012_

Malcolm Merlyn gave a grim smile as his phone rang mere hours after Oliver Queen had returned home.

 _Oh, Moira, Moira._   He thought, tsking to himself.  _Always so predictable._

At least he might get some more insight out of the woman’s rather _rash_ behavior.  She’d begun declining long before the Gambit had sank.  At this rate, it wouldn’t take much to push her over the edge.

The only question was: how was she best of value to _him?_

“What do you know about this Harry Black?”  Moira’s strident tones carried easily across the phone lines.

“Well, hello Moira, I’m doing well, yourself?”  Malcolm’s smirk was rampant in his very voice.

“Cut the crap, Malcolm.”  Moira hissed.  “I know you.  What have you learned about this… _man_ …that has returned alongside my son?”

Malcolm tapped one finger idly on his bedding, only keeping himself from shredding it in a rage through shear control.

“He’s clean, Moira.”  He gave a put-upon sigh.  “Other than ending up on that island, there is nothing strange about him at all.”

“His finances, his family, _nothing_?”

“Nothing.”  Malcolm reiterated.  “He’s wealthy, but not on par with either of us.  Good family, died when he was a child.  Minor nobility of all things.”

Moira choked out a shocked breath, slowly lowering herself to sit on the side of her bed as she kept an eye – and ear – out for Walter.  “He said something about boarding school in Scotland but I never imagined…”

“He did attend, middling grades until his final year where he truly excelled, caught the attention of Her Majesty’s Royal Air Force, joined up right out of school.”  Malcolm rattled off the information his moles had put together for him.  “Exemplary service, even more so for an Omega.  To the point that MI-5 snatched him up before his term was up.  Ten years there, then nothing for six years until he popped up with Oliver.”

“MI-5.”  Moira sighed, closing her eyes.  “That’s the same as I found.  It must be how he ended up there with Oliver, though how I couldn’t even begin to guess.”

“We need to know what Oliver knows, Moira.”  Malcolm’s voice snapped down the line.  “And this Harry Black as well.”

“I’ll take care of it Malcolm.”  Her voice shuddered.  “You have my word.”

“Excellent.”

…

“Your mother is hiding something.”  Harry murmured later that night as they clung together in the vast bed, each feeling an ache that the other can’t sooth.

“Might be about Malcolm.”  Oliver replied with a yawn.  “Though she wasn’t happy about our apparent bond.  She’s going to push it.”

“That’s what you Queens – even if you’re a Merlyn – do.”  Harry chuckled.  “I’d never met such a pushy brat in my life than when I followed Yao Fei into that damned cave…”

…

_Lian Yu, 2007, Spring_

“I can’t take care of him, not an Omega, not like this.”  Yao Fei insisted for the tenth time since finding and retrieving one of his…partners…from the island.

At least this one would know what to do.

Slade would only have _one_ way of dealing with an Omega going into heat without a suppressant.

And a pregnant, hormonal, Omega that was barely out of leading strings was the dead _last_ thing they needed if they ever wanted to escape this hell.

“You’re an Alpha, Fei.”  Harry sighed, running one hand through his hair as he flipped his hood back now that they were under the cover of the rock formations.  “Why can’t you just…”

“Asshole.”  Yao Fei cursed back, neither man caring that the Omega they were discussing was listening to every word – albeit in confusion as they were speaking Mandarin _way_ too fast for him to follow.  “I had a bonded once, I won’t do that again and dishonor her memory.  Not with some foolish child that’s likely to die before the winter is over.”

“Okay, okay.”  Harry held his hands up, not wanting to piss off the usually calm but currently rattled older man too badly.  Then he smirked as he eyed the clear arrow-wound on the kid’s shoulder.  “What’s with you and shooting or trying to shoot your allies, anyway?  You have some sort of _fetish_ I need to know about…?”

“Asshole.”  This time Yao Fei cursed him in English before motioning for the blonde young man to stand.  “Meet Foolish.  Foolish, meet Asshole.”

“I thought that’s what you call your other partner in crime.”  Harry cocked his head to one side.  “What’s his name, Slade?”

“Right now, you’re being a bigger asshole than him.”  Yao Fei told him off with a scowl.  This would be easier if Harry would agree to at least _meet_ the other man.  But the Brit was stubborn like that.  If it wasn’t for Yao Fei being here first and tracking him, he doubted even he would know the other man was present on the island.

Fyers and Wilson both certainly had no clue.

And Yao Fei wasn’t about to tell them if Harry was so dead on keeping to himself.

Even Wilson could take lessons on untrusting, paranoid behavior from the black-haired Brit.

“Guess that’s me told.”  Harry muttered under his breath, eyeing the shaky form of the teen.  “Okay, it’s Oliver right?  I’m Harry.”

Oliver nodded, still at sea between the confusing conversation and the weird fever-and-pains he was dealing with.

“Here’s the deal:” Harry laid it out for him.  “You’re going into heat.  And you’re confused as shit so…I’m going with either you’re just presenting or you’ve been on a shit-ton of suppressants.”

“Heat?”  Oliver stuttered out.  “I can’t… _Omega_ s go into heat.  I’m an Alpha.  I presented as an Alpha three years ago.”

“I seriously doubt that.”  Harry drawled arching a brow.  “You’re absolutely _sure_ you’ve never felt a strange fever or build up of heat just under your skin?  Not back before you presented?  Not ever?”

“I get…itchy…”  Oliver explained choppily as he tried to steady himself without help from either man.  “Sometimes.  Mom said it’s just growing pains.  That it’ll go away.”

“Right.”  Harry bit out a curse.  And he thought the Dursleys were bad.  At least they never fucked with his biology like this.  “Your family’s rich, right, that’s what you told Fei?”  Seeing the nod he continued.  “Wealthier Omegas, or those in fields like the military or intelligence work, take suppressants in shot-form.  They can last anywhere from three months to a year at a time.  My guess is, for some fucking reason, your parents decided to suppress your dynamic, likely using one of the intelligence-grade suppressors that will even change the Omega’s scent to either Alpha or Beta.”  He caught the wobbly teen as he almost lost his balance, wincing in sympathy at the heat of his skin.

Oh yeah.

This was a backlash heat from his chemistry being fucked with for so long.

“That…that’s fucked.”  Oliver warbled.  “My Mom…”

“I’m not saying it’s her, Oliver.”  Harry’s voice gentled.  “Or even your dad.  It could be the school nurse or the gardener for all you know.  But you’re definitely showing signs of being an Omega and coming off of a long haul of suppressors, which is dangerous in itself.  Being out in the semi-open where any Alpha can forcibly bond you just makes it that much worse of a situation to be in, you hearing me?”

“I hear you.”  Oliver forced himself to pay attention and shove the _fucking impossible bullshit_ back.  He _wasn’t_ an Omega…despite what the other two clearly thought.  And if he was…fuck.  He’d go along with this.  Better to give them both an I-told-you-so rant than run the risk of being bonded against his will to some douchebag, the other guy had that right.

“The plan is thus:” Harry started rubbing Oliver down with a mix of herbs Yao Fei had put together.  “We’re going to cover your scent with this stuff.  It smells like ass and skunk liquid but it’ll kill the scent of even a mid-heat Omega dead.  But it doesn’t last forever and we don’t have enough to last the three days to a week you’ll be scenting, clear so far?”

Oliver gave a weak nod, even as the stench of the stuff threatened to turn his stomach.

“You can’t stay with Fei, he’s an Alpha and even he only has so much control.  Plus,” Harry cocked an eyebrow at the Chinese man.  “This isn’t secure enough to hold an Omega’s scent through his heat.  We’re going back to mine.  I have a…bunker…of sorts set up for my own heats when I have to go off my suppressants for safety reasons to let my chemistry balance out, follow?”

“Yeah.”  Oliver gritted his teeth against another spasm.  “I followed.  Still think you’re full of shit…but I follow.”

“Then let’s get going.”

…

_Starling City, 2012_

The next morning Harry and Oliver split up: Oliver heading out with his mother and Walter to bring him back to life, legally speaking, and Harry off to sign the last of the papers for his new “penthouse loft apartment with city views”, or so said the realtor.

A text from Oliver had him smiling, as the newly-alive man was now headed off with Tommy to do a whirlwind tour of the city, leaving Harry to start the work on getting contractors lined up for the Foundry and decorators in for the loft.

At least the few “special” touches Harry wanted for the loft could be handled entirely above-board, shrugging it off as being rich and safety-conscious.

Things like safes in multiple rooms and a “panic” room don’t really draw attention when news had already broken about you being survivor-buddies with Oliver Queen thanks to the media circus surrounding their leave from the hospital and Oliver’s courtroom appearance.

A taxi had Harry meeting Oliver and Tommy – post-Laurel nightmare – at the high-end lot to pick up their new wheels.  They’d already been paid for – or ordered at least, though Oliver was easily able to follow through now that his accounts and trust were all back in his possession – and handed off to a group that specialized in customizing vehicles for the rich-and-spoiled.  Though even they were impressed by the car Oliver had decided to go with on a whim after Harry made a good point that tooling around town on a motorcycle – the same as the new vigilantes that were soon to set up shop – was just _asking_ for trouble.

Harry took one look at the Bugatti Veyron in forest green with black pin-striping and snorted, Oliver and Tommy quick to chide him for his disapproval, Tommy visibly drooling over the seven-figure machine.

Rolling his eyes as Tommy pointed out all the fancy hook ups the custom crew had installed, Oliver busy signing away a chunk of his trust fund that he hadn’t already moved elsewhere, Harry wandered over to his much-less high profile ride, their twin Ducati bikes already dropped off at a no-name storage unit courtesy of Anatoli and their Bratva brothers.

Though Oliver had to point out that in his way, Harry’s ride was just as eye-catching as Oliver’s…just not as ostentatious.

After all, a cherry-red ’72 Camaro was _hardly_ low profile.

Which was kinda the point.

When people thought of either of them and what they rode – or drove – it would be Oliver’s flashing money-mobile or Harry’s ode to muscle cars.

Not zippy motorcycles and men dressed in leather.

Thankfully, their wardrobes had been fixed too, thanks to an emergency call to Walter’s tailor the night before followed by an early delivery from Moira’s personal shopper at Saks for non-formal wear.

Oliver had had to wear a suit to the courthouse, Moira wouldn’t hear of anything less.

And the personal shopper hadn’t done _bad_ …just a little…yuppie/old money for Harry or Oliver, a situation easily remedied with a virgin-drive in their rides over to the mall, a couple of coffees, and making grand use of Oliver’s new Amex.

As far as covers went, establishing themselves as spendthrift trust-fund babies was going excellently.

But only time would tell if it would hold water.

…

It didn’t take them long to research their first target, one Adam Hunt, and to give him a “visit” and a warning, intending to carry through the next day if Hunt didn’t comply.

But before they could even return home after shopping and hanging out with Tommy, a problem arose, much quicker than anticipated.

A problem in the form of four kidnappers, professionals, armed with tranq’s.

Harry came to first, his body burning through the drugs in his system at a rapid rate.

But wise to the situation, he played along as they were tossed in a van and taken to the stereotypical “empty warehouse” – likely in the Glades if his senses were right.  Flopping about convincingly, he stayed “knocked out” as the kidnappers talked among themselves – giving away more than they knew – and waited for Oliver to start to wake up.  It wouldn’t take long he knew from experience.

…

_Lian Yu, 2007_

Harry felt for the kid.

He really did.

Being lied to, for years, by his parents, the same parents who had suppressed his dynamic for whatever fucked-up reason…that was a hard thing to deal with.

That still didn’t make him any less of a whiny brat, going through his first-ever full heat.

And one that was amped-up and screwed-over by years of suppression at that.

With no way to get Oliver into his base, Harry did the next best thing: locked him up in the submarine tucked away in the saltwater lake near his cavern, where he’d found Death’s promised “panacea” the year before.

Though calling it a panacea was a stretch, Death’s warning making sense, as it was more likely to kill than cure – and those it cured over ninety percent ended up with some truly gruesome and epically shitty side-effects.

A plague indeed.

Still, the submarine made for a good secondary base without giving away where his main one was, and since he only spent the nights inside his cave, there was little chance of Yao Fei – or anyone else – figuring out his neat little Animagus trick.

The sub had holding cells in the brig, and Harry set Oliver up in one, alternating between forcing the kid to eat and drink in the lulls, and watching over him in the highs, knocking him out with a _Stupefy_ if his fever rose too high or he was in danger of injuring himself – just two of the reasons the heat should never be suppressed as long as Oliver’s had been.

Towards the end a full eight days later, Oliver was aware enough that Harry wasn’t going to risk using magic on him – at least not directly – so Harry resorted to a mild sleeping draft that wore off at least a couple hours earlier than he’d expected.

Damn menace.

Couldn’t even stay unconscious properly.

…

_Starling City, 2012, unknown warehouse_

Oliver came to with a pounding skull and hearing the sounds from whatever idiots decided it would be a great idea to kidnap him and Harry.

He puzzled over it a minute, then felt the light “tap, tap” vibrating up his chair from where Harry had tapped his foot lightly against one leg.

“I have to ask.”  Oliver drawled, taking his cue as he opened his eyes fully and stared up at the four masked kidnappers, drawing in a breath he smelled Beta under their suppressors.  That was one of the problems Beta criminals faced.  Their senses weren’t anywhere near on par with those of an Alpha or Omega, which meant working without one left them vulnerable to their superior senses.

And Oliver knew damned well that every city police force made sure to hire at least a handful of Alphas to work as trackers for numbskulls like these.

“What _exactly_ is your guys’ play here, hmm?”

Harry hid a smirk from outing him as awake.  Oliver did condescending asshole better than anyone he’d ever met when he was in the mood.  And that included Slade when the Alpha was on a rampage.

“I mean.”  Oliver shrugged as well as he could without giving away that his arms – supposedly tied behind his back and that of the chair – were freed within seconds of him waking.  And that was without Harry’s intervention.  “I just got back from a deserted island and you guys decided, what?  That holding me for ransom was a good plan?”

“Did your father survive the Gambit?”  One of the kidnappers took point, giving Oliver exactly what he wanted in the first place – and his reason for riling them up.  Information.  “Did he make it off the ship?  What did he tell you?”

“Robert Queen?”  Oliver arched a brow, a look of faint surprise crossing his face.  This was about the list.  And he hadn’t even gotten started yet on his mission.  Holy shit, someone was antsy.  He shrugged, still playing like he was bound and watching Harry out of the corning of his eye for the signal.  “Who knows?  It’s possible, right?  After all, I survived.”

“What did Robert Queen tell you?”  The bulked-up Beta stalked forward, lifting Oliver against the “bonds” and snarling in his face.  “Or should we wake up your little Omega pet and ask _him_ , hmm?”

“Oh yeah.”  One of the other thugs sniggered.  “Let’s play with the Omega.  He sure smells delicious even if he doesn’t _look_ like much of a bitch.”

“You know.”  Oliver shook his head in mock ruefully as he brought his hands around breaking the bulky Beta’s grip and knocking him down with a massive kick from his powerful legs.  At the same time, Harry sprung from his chair, eyes snapping open and his hand snapping out, stunning two of the others as Oliver took care of the fourth, all of the kidnappers out for the count as they heard the groans telling them that Tommy would be awake soon.  “They make that same mistake all over the world: underestimating Omegas.”

“Don’t worry about it, love.”  Harry walked over, having already dug into one of the hired thugs’ pockets and located a phone, dialing 911 before calling in the kidnapping with a disguised voice.  “Just makes things easier for us, yeah?  Come on.”  He hauled Oliver back over to his seat and tied him back up, tossing the phone into his lap.  “Time to set the scene.  We’ll discuss later.”

…

Harry, Oliver, and Tommy had been relocated to the Queen Mansion and were wrapped in blankets in the living room, having already given statements to the uniforms at the warehouse but knowing they’d have to go over it all again with detectives from the precinct.

 Especially when they realized two of the attackers were dead and the other two were in comas.

Most muggles in this world, Harry had found out, weren’t able to wake naturally from a stunner from a powerful wizard like Harry.  He _could_ wake them up, having gotten the hang of a wandless _Reenervate,_ but that kinda defeated the purpose.  He _couldn’t_ preform an _Obliviate_ wandlessly, and those four being able to give testimony would kinda screw him and Oliver over.  It wasn’t worth it.

As far as Harry was concerned, those two had gotten off easy with him: Oliver had killed his two, one with a broken neck, the other with a shot from broken-neck’s gun.

Harry could and would kill, he’d established that before he’d ever ended up on Lian Yu, _but_ he didn’t see the point when it was just some hired help.

He’d save it for those who deserved it.

Like Adam Hunt, who’d signed his own death warrant by failing to listen to Oliver’s warning.

The scent of bitterness, coffee, and a faint familial musk Harry recognized preceded the form of Lieutenant Quentin Lance into the Queen’s living room.

Lance listened, clearly skeptical, as the uniform gave the rundown on Oliver’s story before turning to confront the trio sitting on the couch.

“That’s it?”  His tone was rank with disbelief.  “Some mook in a hood swept in to save you from four armed kidnappers?  Who is he, why would he do that?”

The _for you_ was absent but heavily implied, Lance finding it hard to believe that _anyone_ would go out of their way for Oliver Queen.

“I don’t know, Lieutenant.”  Oliver shot back dryly, cheek firmly in place.  “Why don’t you find him and ask him yourself?”

“What about you two?”  Lance demanded of Harry and Tommy.  “Merlyn, random friend of Queen’s?”

“Harry P. Black, RAF, MI-5.”  Harry introduced himself dryly as he stood to his full-height which was several inches larger than the puffed-up bantam of an Alpha cop with a grudge.  “Believe me, if I’d been conscious, this would be a whole ‘nother story, _Lieutenant_.”

“What?”  Lance stared back at the guy, something about him scratching him the wrong way – aside from his taste in company.  “You hired a bodyguard already, Moira?”

“He’s my bond-mate.”  Oliver answered for his stonily-watching mother as he tugged Harry back down beside him.  “We met on the island.”

“And you, Tommy?”  Lance prompted again.  “You see anything?”

“I saw…”  Tommy blew out a breath, shaking his head at all the pheromones flying around between Oliver, Harry, and Lance.  “Something.  It was all really fuzzy.  Might’ve been a guy in a hood.  Might’ve been a couple, I don’t know.”

“That possible, Queen?”  Lance arched a brow.

“Maybe.”  Oliver shrugged.  “Like I said, I was pretty out of it from getting hit in the head.  Could’ve been more than one guy.”

“Well, imagine that.”  Lance commented sarcastically as he stepped back from the couch.  “Back one day and you’re already kidnapped and rescued by a mysterious guy or two in hoods.  Aren’t you popular?”

Moira finally stepped in, making her move and defusing some of the ticking time bomb that was Oliver and Lance.

“Did you identify those men?”

Detective Hilton, Lance’s partner answered.

“Scrubbed identities, burned off prints, clean weapons: they were pros.”  He shrugged, it was a dead end.  “We’ll try and run DNA but it’s a long shot.”

“Probably figured you’d pay a king’s ransom.”  Lance sneered at the still-sitting Oliver.  “Or a Queen’s ransom as it were for Oliver’s safe recovery.  After all,” the sneer turned even uglier, fire in Lance’s eyes.  “What parent wouldn’t do anything they could for their child?”

“I don’t find your tone appropriate, Lieutenant.”  Moira rebuked him sharply as Harry gave a little laugh, startling everyone, even Walter who had begun to rise.

“ _That’s_ what’s this is about?”  Harry snickered, shaking his head.  “ _Jesus_.  You don’t have a clue do you?”

“What the fuck are you talking about, you little punk?”  Lance snarled, stepping forward until to be pushed back by a growling Oliver who had shot to his feet at the perceived threat to his bond-mate, Hilton grabbing Lance by the arm.

“Sara Lance.”  Harry cocked his head, confusion clear on his face.  “She’s alive.  Has been this _whole time_.  Last we saw the little bint was what?”  He craned his head up to look at Oliver, ignoring the frown he was getting from his bond-mate.  “Three years ago?  If you still think she’s dead, that’s on your bouncing baby girl.”  He sneered.  “Not us.”

“That’s enough for now.”  Walter rushed to end the confrontation before it could turn any uglier.  “If they think of anything more, they’ll be in touch.  Thank you for coming gentlemen.”

“We’ll see ourselves out.”  Hilton nodded, motioning to the uniforms to clear the area as he steered his shell-shocked partner from the room, dazed himself.

“Sara?”  Lance said in a broken whisper.  “Did he just say Sara was alive?”

“As of three years ago.”  Hilton answered as he stuffed Lance in the black-and-white with orders for the officer to take him home.  “Yes.  The testimony from the hearing will be released by the morning.  We’ll find out more then.  Get some sleep Quinten.”

…

_Starling City Channel 8 News, 2012_

_“The miraculous recovery of billionaire heir and Alpha Oliver Queen has been big news over the last weeks as he was recovered by a fishing boat off an island in the East China Sea.  Even bigger news followed shortly thereafter, as he allegedly wasn’t recovered alone, accompanied by this man: (a picture of Oliver and Harry taken during their trip to pick up their cars flashed on the screen) confirmed to be former RAF pilot and MI-5 agent Harry Potter Black, an Omega with a sterling service record before disappearing after his honorable early retirement six years ago.  Now in the wake of the release of his testimony during his hearing to be legally reinstated as living, Oliver Queen has confirmed that at least one other member of the Queen’s Gambit survived that deadly wreck: Sara Lance, Oliver’s then-Beta-girlfriend and daughter of Starling City police Lieutenant Quentin Lance who has been presumed dead all these years, though her current location is unknown.  Mr. Queen as also confirmed the deaths of the rest of the crew and ship’s company, including that of his father, Starling City business man and mogul, Robert Queen…”_

_…_

The news stations fought for coverage between Oliver’s survival and released testimony and the discovery of the missing Sara Lance as the world watched and waited for what would happen next.

Though that night being Oliver’s welcome home party thrown by Tommy, they didn’t have long to wait.

…

“It needs to be done, Oliver.”  Harry told his lover calmly as they left the Foundry, having successfully signed the papers that morning and had met with contractors that afternoon, taking Oliver’s ridiculous car, the two disappearing before anyone else was awake, needing some time and space for themselves.

Time and space inspecting their loft, the two breaking it in with a round of sparring with staves followed by a sweaty shag and a shower.

Honestly, they just needed to reconnect after the shock of coming to Starling City and the headlong rush they’d been in ever since, especially since they’d fought over and over again about whether or not to reveal that Sara had, at least at one point, been alive though they had no idea where she was now – or what she was up to – if she survived the wreck of the _Amazo_.

Oliver hadn’t been…pleased with Harry jumping the gun with Lance, or how indelicately he’d dropped that bomb, and had definitely taken it out on his bond-mate during their spar and thankfully not out on his arse.

Angry sex with Oliver was almost as after-the-fact painful as it had been with Slade and _that_ was saying something.  Not that they intentionally _hurt_ each other.  No.  But they both did like it rough, hot, and hard sometimes, and in those cases whoever was bottoming tended to come out the other side sore and tender for a couple days, with some impressive bruises and even bite marks.

Not something they can really afford with an op that night, else Harry had a feeling he’d be hitting his soothing cream rather than running around Starling City in his old Hit Wizard uniform that he’d picked to be his vigilante outfit.  Only with a mask on the lower half of his face that he’d used in the old days for missions where his identity would’ve caused problems.  It was dragonhide, and spelled for comfort, in an inky grey what matched the bulk of his uniform, covering from the bridge of his nose over his cheeks and down all the way to tuck under his jawline, perfectly concealing his identity when combined with the hood of his battle robe.

Oliver preferred something less bulky than Harry’s multiple layers on his upper body, going with a form-fitting leather with the hood Yao Fei gave him and a leather mask to match Harry’s in green on his bond-mate’s insistence, having vetoed Oliver’s idea of greasepaint.

The lower-face masks didn’t hinder their sight at all like a full-face or upper-face would, the single fact that won Harry that argument.

“I know.”  Oliver finally answered Harry as they reached the Veyron, one hand resting on the roof as he stared across the car at his lover.  “But how?  Just walk up to him and go: hey, guess what, it’s a boy…again?”

“Not like that.”  Harry rolled his eyes and ducked into the car, Oliver climbing in as well as starting the engine.  “Definitely not like that.  I’ll go with you, give you a buffer.  It’s not like you don’t know where to find him.”

Groaning low in his throat, Oliver pulled out into the city traffic, steering the expensive car towards downtown and the business district, Harry already pulling out his phone and working his magic – though not literally or both the car and the phone would probably be fried by now.

“Mr. Merlyn’s office, this is Jason speaking.”  Oliver’s keen hearing picked up the tones of the mildly-perky secretary as they navigated their way towards Merlyn Global.

“Jason, lovely.”  Harry’s British charm just about _oozed_ from his pores as he spoke, Oliver barely restraining an eye roll.  Both of them could schmooze with the best of them, laying on the charm, but something about his bond-mate’s accent made people _lose their minds_ and melt, rushing to do whatever he pleased.

Which was highly entertaining when you considered that before ending up on Lian Yu, Harry admitted that he’d never even thought of doing such a thing before.

Purgatory had changed them all, in ways both great and small.

“This is Harry Black, calling on behalf of Oliver Queen, would Mr. Merlyn be available for a quick meeting in say.”  Harry glanced out the window calculating the distance.  “Twenty minutes?  It would be ever so wonderful if he was.”

“I’m not sure, Mr. Black.”  Jason answered back, locking eyes with his boss who cocked his head and strolled out to see what the problem was.  Tilting the phone away, he mouthed: _Oliver Queen,_ then tapped his watch twice for twenty minutes.

“I’ll see him.”  Malcom said, reining in his sense of victory.  There was no way to know what Oliver wanted to see him about after all.  It could have to do with anything, anything at all.  “Clear my afternoon.  Mr. Queen can have all the time he likes.  It’s not every day one comes back from the dead after all.”

Jason relayed the message Harry thanking him before hanging up, as the Veyron sped through traffic and Malcolm sent his assistant off for tea and a light snack, trying to keep things hospitable but not tip his hand.

This could be the conversation he was hoping for – or it could be something else entirely.

Either way, Malcolm could hardly wait to find out.

…

_Lian Yu, Harry’s submarine, 2007_

Oliver came back to himself with a shiver, waking up with a groggy head and an achy body.

Dazed, he stumbled to his feet and leaned on the iron bars, checking the cell door.

To his shock, it opened easily if with a groan, Oliver making his way down the hall to where his senses told him there was both a person and food.

Coming to a halt when he found what he thought was the galley of a ship – an old ship based on the design and materials – Oliver stared warily at the black-haired man seated at the table who looked up out of emerald green eyes at his entrance.  He remembered – kinda – seeing this man with Yao Fei and the two of them bringing him back here.  But it was all a fevered blur, Oliver not entirely sure yet if this guy was trustworthy despite Yao Fei seeming to trust him – at least with Oliver which might not say much.

“Come on, brat.”  Harry jerked his head towards the filled plate sitting opposite of himself and the steaming cup of tea – or what accounted for it on the island at least.  “You’ll need to line your stomach after coming off of heat.”

“Heat?”  Oliver muttered shaking his head, but unable to deny what he’d went through.

Leaking slick from his ass was a pretty big-ass clue that Harry and Yao Fei weren’t fucking him around after all, though it was still a tough pill to swallow for the teen.

“Heat.”  Harry confirmed.  “And a rough one: lasted almost ten days, longest I’ve heard of even when using suppressors.  Of course.”  Harry scowled off into the distance as Oliver started to shovel food into his maw, drinking eagerly of the bitter tea that unbeknownst to him was spiked with nutrition potion.  “When me and those like me use suppressors we make sure to go off of them at least once a year at a minimum to let our bodies reset.  Whoever’s been dosing you didn’t do that and fucked your chemistry right over.”

Oliver stared down at his plate, chewing slowly as the conversation they’d had in the cave ran back through his mind, as well as the additional information Harry had just given him about the suppressors the other man thought he was on – knowingly or not.

“I’ve always been an Alpha.”  Oliver whispered, sea-green eyes with their bluey tinge lifting to meet pure emerald.  “That’s what I _had_ to be.  Queen Males are always Alphas, always have been.  It’s what I was raised to be…I don’t.”  He shook a little, lowering his hand with the vibrating fork back down to the table as he held himself together.  “I don’t know who did this to me.  I just don’t know.”

He didn’t even know who he _was_ anymore.

Lost on an island, shot, taught gruesome skills, now an Omega instead of an Alpha.  Just who was Oliver Queen?  Because he sure as shit didn’t know.

“But you have a guess.”  Harry probed softly, voice gentle.  “It’s all over your face.”

Blowing out a breath, Oliver nodded looking away as he bit his lip before admitting: “My dad.  Not too long after I turned fifteen he got really…cold.  Stopped taking me into the office, stopped going to games or teacher’s conferences, just…stopped.  But not with my sister.  He kept being a dad to Thea while to me he was just this disapproving giant that I lived with.”

When he was around anyway.

Between Robert’s business and Oliver spending time with Tommy at his house or at the Lance’s they didn’t cross paths much after that.

“Would your father have had the resources to access the type of suppressors I described?”  Harry asked, wanting to make sure.  He knew the man was already dead, Fei had told him as much.  Too bad.  He wouldn’t _enjoyed_ teaching Robert Queen about how _not_ to treat his son.  Omega or not, it should _never_ had made a difference.  “And the ability to have them administered?”

“I had a yearly physical and _allergy shots_.”  Oliver snorted with a bitter eye roll as he started eating again, albeit slowly.  “And yes, even if he couldn’t get them from one of his business contacts Queen Consolidated has a sciences division: they could’ve cooked something up for him if he ordered them to.”

“Alright then.”  Harry nodded.  “Mystery solved, at least for now.  What do you remember about your lessons on the three dynamics?  I’m assuming they had you take a general one in primary and a specialized one once you supposedly presented as an Alpha.”

“That’s right.”  Oliver nodded, finishing off the rest of his eggs – he imagined they belonged to one of the wild birds that made the island home – and some sort of cooked green that was only a little less bitter than the tea.  Still, if he’d learned anything from Yao Fei, it was that food didn’t have to taste good anymore.  It just needed to keep him going another day.  “I know Omegas have advanced senses like Alphas, go into heats on a personal schedule, and can be bonded and impregnated by any Alpha that ruts them in a heat.  That’s pretty much it.”

“Your schedule is going to be right fucked over for a while.”  Harry told him, pointing over to a bucket of water and a drying rack when Oliver rose with plate and cup in hand to take care of his dishes.  “For months, maybe a year, it’s hard to say.  So keep an eye on it and let me or Fei know if you think you’re coming up on a heat.  We can mask your scent, the same as I do mine, with an herb paste.”

“I remember that stuff.”  Oliver grimaced.  “Smelled like something died…but somehow worse.”

“Not grand for hiding or stealth, I’ll admit.”  Harry smiled wryly.  “But vital to keeping an approaching heat under wraps when there are hostile Alphas in the area – and believe me, there are.”

Oliver just nodded at this as he set his dishes aside and leaned back against the counter, listening intently the same as he did to all of Yao Fei’s lessons on survival.

This was no different or less important.

If anything it was more important to Oliver.  Dying was one thing.  Being stuck in a forced bond to a raping asshole was something else _entirely_ …and not something Oliver was sure he’d even _want_ to live through.

“Where Alphas have enhanced strength, we have enhanced flexibility, though both dynamics have better agility and senses than a Beta, but there’s a spectrum even among us. “

“Wondered about that.”  Oliver muttered, staring off to the side.  “Should’ve been able to hold my own against Tommy but he took me down every time we’d wrestle.”

“Suppressors can do a lot.”  Harry acknowledged.  “They can hide your dynamic, mask your sent with Alpha or Beta or erase it altogether.  Prevent heat and fuck over your natural chemistry.  But they can’t turn you into an actual Alpha.  But Omegas, we’re the counterparts to Alphas for a reason.  Over time, you’ll see what I mean as you train with me and Fei.  Come on, brat.”  Harry’s smile eased the sting of the nickname.  “Let’s get you back to Baba Alpha before he thinks I tossed you off a cliff or something.  I’m not known for being the most _sociable_ inhabitant of this island.”

Harry couldn’t help but want to help the brat as best he could.

Eighteen years old, maybe nineteen by now, shipwrecked on an island with killers, crazies, and mercs, spoiled rotten, and now finding out that someone – likely his dad – had lied to him for years over his dynamic.

Granted, Harry had never been as naïve about people as Oliver clearly was as quickly as he’d latched onto himself and Yao Fei, but he could still see a lot of younger-Harry struggling and drowning under the weight of the Wizarding World in Oliver Queen.

Which did nothing but make his fucking _saving-people-thing_ rear its ugly head, the same as it’d done when he found Yao Fei and heard his story, mere weeks before Fyers and his fugly band of fucktards showed up to ruin the peace and quiet of Purgatory.

…

_Starling City, 2012_

“Oliver, good to see you back safe!”  Malcolm greeted them warmly as they were shown into his executive office at Merlyn Global.  “And this must be your companion, Mr. Black.  Welcome gentlemen, would you care for a drink before we get into the reason for your visit?”

Oliver couldn’t help but arch a brow at the warmth pouring over them from the “Ice King of Starling” Malcolm Merlyn.  He hadn’t seen Malcolm like this since…  Since before his wife Rebecca died when he was a kid.

He shared a quick glance with Harry.

Something was up.

The only question was whether it was something dangerous or not.

“Thank you, Mr. Merlyn.”  Harry’s polite…Britishness stepped to the fore as he allowed himself to be led to a comfortable seating area in the office by the ice-blue eyed Alpha, Oliver pacing at his heels and sitting beside him quietly, watching everything carefully, his hackles all but raised in suspicion.  “Tea, if you have it, would be wonderful, Oliver?”

“Just water, is fine, thank you Mr. Merlyn.”  Oliver said after clearing his throat.

Malcolm nodded and poured a cuppa from the tea service on the low table, offering it to the Omega, before pulling a sealed bottle of water from the fridge to his left and getting himself a tea as well, though he drank it black unlike his companion who doctored his with honey and cream before sipping at it in pleasure.

“Wonderful.”  Harry told him with genuine pleasure.  “Just wonderful.  Thank you.”

“My pleasure, gentlemen.”  He nodded with a slight smile as the younger men helped themselves to the platter of fruit, though Harry Black he saw nabbed a few of the sweet pastries, gaining himself an eye roll from his bond-mate at the action.  “Now,” he said after taking a drink of his own cup.  “What brings you here today, Oliver?  I’m afraid if it’s to do with Tommy our relationship is not what it once was, even before you…were lost.”

“It’s not about Tommy, Mr. Merlyn.”  Oliver said, setting aside his water with a sigh, Harry reaching over and linking their fingers together but otherwise pretending to be engrossed in his tea and pastries.  “But it could have an…effect on him.”

“Go on.”  Malcolm set his tea cup down and leaned forward in patented concern, easily hiding his eagerness and bated delight.  Could it be what he’d hoped ever since deciding to let Oliver make the first move?  Could his son have come to him after all?  And so soon after returning, as well.  “You have my attention.”

“Well…”  Oliver sucked in a breath, looking everywhere but at the patiently waiting business mogul.  “Well.  You see…”

“They ran a DNA test on Oliver.”  Harry supplied, ignoring the sharp look from his lover who if left to his own devices would dance around the subject all day.  “To confirm his identity since all of his documentation went down with the Gambit.  It showed some…irregularities that resulted in the delay that kept us in Hong Kong a couple extra days.”

“I see.”  Malcolm frowned lightly, as if puzzled, holding his smugness and paternal pride over his strong second son – an Omega who successfully fooled everyone into believing him an Alpha no less – deep inside and away from the scrutiny of his audience.  “Are you sick, Oliver?  Do you need the help of my pharmaceutical division, or…?”

“No.”  Oliver waved that off, steeling his spine now that Harry had given him a set up to step up.  “Nothing of that kind of thing.  It wasn’t an illness they found, it was that my genetic sample didn’t match that of Robert Queen that caused the delay.”

Blue eyes shot wide as Malcolm stared between the two younger men, the youngest of whom was holding onto his bond-mate for dear life, though it was mostly hidden by their legs and the table, Malcolm could still spy the white knuckles on Oliver’s hand as he squeezed onto Mr. Black.

Interesting.

That had to hurt, Oliver had grown into a strong – a very strong – man.

And yet, not a single thing about Harry Black gave away that Oliver was at that moment causing him pain.  Not in the slightest.

Fascinating, and in need of investigating.

“I was…aware that Robert and your mother had problems throughout their marriage.”  Malcolm said slowly.  “Most of our circle knew, it was an open secret.  But there was never any inkling that you were anything but Robert’s son, Oliver.  If you would like, I can do some discreet checking into things, see if I can pinpoint your potential sire…?”

“No need.”  Oliver locked his sea-green eyes on icy blue.  “I already know who my father is.  And I’m staring right at him.  But then,” Oliver arched a brow.  “Something tells me you already knew that…didn’t you, _Dad_?”

…

_Hong Kong, 2012_

_“Mr. Queen, as I said before, there was a problem with your DNA test.”_

_“Yes?”_

_“You see Mr. Queen, in cases like this we have to match your DNA against that of the known parents on file: in this case Moira Queen and Robert Queen, or failing that a sibling.”_

_“Yes?”  This time the word was a bit jagged, as if the speaker already guessed what the doctor might say, given the context._

_“I am sorry to tell you that while we were able to confirm you as the son of Moira Queen…we were not able to confirm that you are the son of Robert Queen.”_

_A harsh breath was sucked into shocked lungs, strong arms wrapping around stronger shoulders, and a new voice spoke, this one with a strange combination of a British accent and the many flavors of a traveled man – or one who has kept interesting companions._

_“Were you able to match his sample to a known sire at all?  And how will this affect his transfer to Starling City?”_

_“The transfer is being processed as we speak, due to the delicate nature of the issue it was decided that a half-match was enough to confirm with photographs comparing Oliver Queen from Starling City with the patient before me.  As to a sire, we first looked at the samples on file for high-profile people such as the Queens and came up with a match, another Alpha, one Malcolm Merlyn.”_

_“Has Mr. Merlyn been notified?”  Oliver’s voice was sharp enough to cut through steel, the Beta doctor quailing a bit at the Alpha bite to the tone._

_“Not of the test results, or why his sample was accessed no.”  The doctor’s voice was weak in the face of the stout displeasure his words brought to the two intimidating men before him.  It was probably the first him in his life he’d felt real, visceral,_ fear _when faced with an Omega.  But then, he’d never met an Omega before like Harry Black.  “But the standard protocol of accessing the database would inform Mr. Merlyn…eventually.  And if he follows up, he’ll find out why his sample was accessed at all, though no information on who the other person involved was or the results of the testing.”_

...

_Merlyn Global, Starling City, 2012_

“Yes.”  Malcom admitted after a long moment of considering and discarding his options faster than most computer processors.  “But only recently.  I never knew.”  He reached out and took a shaky drink of his tea, playing up his stunned father act a bit.  “Moira never even _hinted_ you were mine.  And you spent so much time with Robert and so little around me that your scent never caught my attention as one of my pups.”  He set the cup aside once more, reaching out hands open across the table towards Oliver.  “When my sample was accessed I wanted to know why, what little the Chinese would tell me peaked my interest.”

“And you went digging.”  Oliver heaved a sigh, running one hand through his short blond hair.  “Of course you did, who wouldn’t.”

“I thought you needed some time to come to terms with things.”  Malcolm said, gently resting one hand on Oliver’s knee, half expecting him to flinch out of the way but pleased when the younger man allowed the contact for the moment.  “I know I did when I found out.  If you hadn’t come to me after you settled back in I would have broached the subject with you.”

“What about Tommy?”  Oliver asked, distress shining in his eyes.  “Does he know?”

Oliver wouldn’t _think_ so but then he’d been gone a long time.  A lot of things had changed, god knows he had.  Tommy could’ve learned how to keep things close to the vest in five years.

“Not yet.”  Malcolm said with a short shake of his head and a light squeeze of his hand on Oliver’s knee.  “I wanted to wait and see how you wanted to handle things.  I’m not going to push myself into your life Oliver, though I would like to be a part of it.  I know I haven’t been the best father in the past, as you well know, but I never knew how to fix things with Tommy.”

“You’re wanting a fresh start.”  Harry observed cannily.  “With _both_ your sons.  And you’re hoping having a brother in Oliver who at least is cordial with you will help smooth the jagged edges with Tommy.”

“Yes.”  Malcolm agreed, a bit impressed with the other man’s insight.  Oliver and Mr. Black were getting more interesting by the moment.  Interesting enough that he started to doubt the story of some random do-gooder saving the boys from Moira’s hired thugs.  They both at least looked strong enough to have managed an escape…if they had the skills remained to be seen, though Mr. Black’s background pointed towards it.  “In a best case scenario, that’s what I would want, though I would hope for more than a merely _cordial_ relationship with my younger child, now that I know he _exists_.”

“And Mom?”  Oliver prodded at all the weak spots, testing and testing for Malcolm’s reaction.  He moved too smoothly for a mere businessman.  There was something more to his newfound father, and Oliver was determined to discover what it was.

“Is likewise unaware that her,” Malcolm’s eyes turned ice cold, mouth firming.  “ _Indiscretions_ have been revealed, at least in part.”

“Indiscretions.”  Harry murmured, as if to himself, emerald green eyes watching every second of the interactions between the other two men.  “A soft word to cover hard truths.”

“Perhaps.”  Malcolm allowed with a dip of his head.  “But in the face of my newfound son, that’s as polite as I can be about Moira Queen at the moment, longtime friend or not, by keeping Oliver from me she’s betrayed me in one of the worst ways a person can, second only to the betrayal of my wife I myself fell into by creating Oliver in the first place.”

“Tommy’s going to have a problem, a _massive_ problem, with that part of it.”  Oliver sighed, leaning back and finally letting go of Harry’s hand as he slumped against the couch cushions.

“Rebecca knew of the _incident_ in question.”  Malcolm said with a wince, rising to his feet and pacing over towards his desk, picking up some files.  “She didn’t approve of my actions in any way, and it was years before she forgave Moira, but in time we did find peace with it together.”

“That’s how it happened?”  Oliver asked, despite a large part of him never wanting to know.  “Mom came to you in what, heat?”

“Pre-heat.”  Malcolm scowled as he remembered, setting the files down on the table and pushing them toward Oliver as he retook his seat.  “On the cusp of her actual heat which I believe hit within hours of leaving me and that she spent the rest of with your…Robert.”

“He knew.”  Oliver shook his head as he levered himself back upright and began to look through the files that Malcolm obviously wanted him to see.  It was all evidence that the other man had prepared for just such a moment: proof of infidelity on both Moira and Robert’s parts that ran from before their bonding until Robert’s death.  Then in another file was something that stopped Oliver’s heart in his chest a moment.  Paperwork to claim Oliver as Malcolm Merlyn’s biological son, others adding him to insurance policies and the Merlyn trust, even an offer of a position in Merlyn Global.

He worked fast, Harry thought as he arched a brow, reading over Oliver’s shoulder.  Harry had to give him that.  Malcolm Merlyn wasn’t a man to rest on his laurels.

“He knew.”  Oliver repeated, setting aside the folders with the cheating evidence and focusing on the other files.  “I don’t know how many times I’ve heard that Queen Alpha males only throw Queen Alpha males.  When I presented.”  Oliver cut himself off, eyes searing into Malcolm as he nearly let that truth slip.

“Yes, I know about that too.”  Malcolm admitted without shame.  “Once I found out, I accessed everything I could about your condition, I wanted to know you were safe.  The dynamic results were buried deep.”

“But not deep enough.”  Oliver shook his head, not even sure at this point why he was surprised.  “Regardless, when I presented at fifteen Robert had to have suspicions and had me tested while he was making arrangements for me to be dosed with suppressants.”

“It at least explains a lot of his later behavior with you, love.”  Harry told him, scooting closer and throwing an arm around the younger Omega’s waist.  “It doesn’t excuse it mind: but not every Alpha can accept a pup that’s not their own.  Though it would’ve been kinder to reveal the deception than to neglect you and dose you for the next three years.”

“Robert dosed you?”  Malcolm raised a brow at that, genuinely surprised.  “In my experience with the Queens, that’s more the sort of thing Moira would stoop to.”

“We don’t have any proof.”  Oliver admitted, leaning into the comfort offered by his bond-mate, only a small part of him uncomfortable with showing the weakness in the face of his actual sire.  “But Robert started acting cold shortly after my fifteenth birthday and until I went through my first heat on Lian Yu I was dead certain I was an Alpha.”

“Whoever it was,” Harry snarled lowly.  “Kept him on suppressants ‘round the clock for over three years.  Right fucked up his chemistry when they wore off on the island, let me tell you.”

“Yeah.”  Oliver gave a weary chuckle.  “Not one of my favorite times ever, that’s for sure.”

He was just glad that he didn’t go into heat while Fyers had him captive and tortured.

Now _that_ would’ve been a disaster and a _half_.

…

_Lian Yu, Fyer’s Main Camp, 2007 Fall_

Breathing through the pain caused by his latest round with the masked torturer, Oliver couldn’t believe that only a few weeks had passed since he’d been captured.

Any way you looked at it, the situation was fucked, he was constantly being tortured to the edge of his endurance, only for the sadistic bastards to pull back before they broke him entirely, not wanting to drive him mad, just after entertainment and information on the others on the island now that they had Yao Fei in their grasp.

They knew there were others: that Yao Fei had help, Oliver could tell that much.  But they weren’t sure how many.  And they definitely didn’t know about Harry, who Oliver hadn’t seen hide nor hair of since this whole fucked up mess began.

He’d been out hunting with Yao Fei when it happened: Yao Fei had heard some of the mercenaries coming their way.  They’d tried to hide, only to fail thanks to Oliver, then Yao Fei had begun fighting them off only for Oliver to end up captured.  Yao Fei had tried to save him, and nearly succeeded.

But that damned torturer had taken on Yao Fei, eventually leading to the both of them captives for whatever purpose Fyers had in mind.

At least he hadn’t gone into heat.

Oliver thanked god for small mercies, easily recognizing that his torturer in the black and orange mask was an Alpha, the man nearly _reeked_ of it, his scent a lot more primal than any other he’d met before, even Yao Fei who was the _earthiest_ scented Alpha he’d met.

Something told the Omega that had he gone into heat he would’ve ended up with a feral Alpha on his hands and a brutal knotting to go with it.

After that first, it seemed like his body was in overdrive, going into a series of quick couple-day heats every couple of weeks.  But after that it slowed down, until several months later he’d just come off a heat and was back with Yao Fei again.  That was a week or so by his count before he’d been caught the first time.

Which meant he _should_ have at least a month or so left before he had to entertain the notion of his torturer becoming his rapist.

If he lasted that long, that is.

…

A week later and another round with his torturer had Oliver reassessing his survival odds, heat or no heat, as he was roused from his cage and hauled outside, still wearing the torn and ragged uniform he’d stolen off the guy he’d killed while trying to escape…before Yao Fei fucked him over for some reason he couldn’t figure out.

And Oliver knew there had to be a reason.

He just needed to figure it out.

A man doesn’t spend months keeping him alive, running from mercenaries, training him and getting help for him from his _severely anti-social_ comrade, and then just turn on him for no reason.

Even in this fucked-up version of the world, things don’t happen like that.

Which means Oliver just needed to figure it out.

Lifting his head as he heard the sounds of shouts and fighting, Oliver blinked as he saw the figment of most of his night terrors now, fighting and beating another guy almost to death.

Yeah.

He needed to seriously reassess his odds of survival.

Because at the moment…they weren’t looking so great.

…

_Starling City, 2012_

After leaving Merlyn Global with things only somewhat cleared up – no, Oliver wasn’t going to come work for Malcolm; yes, he’d accept the other things including being publicly outed as Malcolm’s son – but after they talked to their respective families; no, he wanted to confront Moira himself; and so on – Harry and Oliver made their way back to the Queen Mansion to get cleaned up and changed for Oliver’s welcome home party – only to be met with an unwelcome surprise.

“Oliver, good you’re home.”  Moira’s censure was clear in her voice as she nearly pounced on them coming in through the door.  “I’d like you to meet someone,” leading them into the living from by dint of one claw-like hand digging into Oliver’s arm, where a well-built African-American Alpha in his late thirties or early forties was waiting with a look of deep patience on his face was waiting.  “This is John Diggle, your new bodyguard dear.”

“Bodyguard?”  Oliver asked incredulously, turning on his mother with a horrified face.  “Mother…”

“You were back a day and kidnapped Oliver.”  Moira snapped, her tone one she’d used all her life to get her way with her rebellious elder pup.  “Do this: for me and Thea if nothing else.”

“What about when I’m at my loft with Harry?”  Oliver pressed, arching a brow.  “Is Mr. Diggle going to camp out on the couch or…?  We weren’t exactly prepared for having a bodyguard on staff.”

Moira nearly growled, narrowing her eyes, at the reminder that Oliver was not only _not_ the teenage boy who’d left on the Gambit but that he was fully an adult and had a bond-mate of all things.

A bond-mate she didn’t trust as far as she could throw him.

Thank god they weren’t married.  At least Oliver’s inheritance was safe from whom she was sure was a gold digger.  Or at least an opportunist of some kind who’d preyed on her young, vulnerable son.

Moira had _no clue_ just how far off she was in her suspicions.

None what-so-ever.

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary.”  Diggle interjected, holding out his hand for the two men to shake.  “John Diggle, you can call me Dig.  And I already checked out the address of Mr. Black’s loft.  The security there is some of the best in the city.  I’m sure dropping you off at the loft entrance will be fine for everyone’s peace of mind when you choose to stay there Mr. Queen.”

“I don’t have time for this.”  Oliver pressed his fingers to his eyes, not agreeing but not able to waste any more time or energy fighting his mother when he was constantly at war with himself over when and how to confront her over his father.  “Harry?  I’m going to go get changed for the party.”

“Be right up.”  Harry called after him, waiting patiently for Oliver to be – supposedly for their audience – out of earshot.  Several long moments later, he pinned Moira with a stern, icy green gaze.  “For future reference, Mrs. Steele.  Oliver is a grown man who has lived through things you can’t even imagine.  Moreover, he is a bonded man, with a mate, and any further interference in our personal lives, such as foisting off a bodyguard who will report back to you, onto us will _not_ be dealt with nearly as pleasantly as in this case.  I trust I am clear?”  With a smile that could cut glass, Harry shook Dig’s hand one more time then informed him: “We’ll be driving into the city for Oliver’s party in two hours, Dig.  We’re taking Oliver’s Veyron which seats two.  I trust you have no problem following in an unmarked car?”

“That’ll work fine, Mr. Black.”  Dig nodded, eyes shifting between the two posturing Omegas, not entirely sure which was the more dangerous.

Though his money was on the Brit.

He recognized military bearing when he saw it, and Harry Black had it, making it easy to see even if he hadn’t been forwarded the files Mrs. Steele/Queen had complied on her son and his bond-mate.

“Very well.”  Harry nodded smoothly.  “Two hours, Dig.”  And with that, Harry loped elegantly up the stairs.

“I realize you are my employer, Mrs. Queen.”  Diggle said once he’d heard the door to Oliver’s room open and shut behind the Omega.  “However, Mr. Black has brought up an excellent point.  There is only so much I can do – legally – when it comes to an Alpha/Omega pairing.  And what I can report to you regarding their activities as both are grown and mated.”

“Just keep Oliver safe, Mr. Diggle.”  Moira said in a dismissive tone, clearly miffed and ruffled by Black’s set-down.  “That’s what you’re being paid for, after all.”

“Yes, Mrs. Queen.”

…

Diggle followed the pair to the party easily enough, already half-resigned to following around another silver-spoon trust-fund baby and all the crap that went with it.  Half-resigned, because even from just the few times he’d been around Oliver Queen, things didn’t quite add up when you added Harry Black into the occasion.

Harry Black, who seemed content to watch the party from a darker corner of the vast venue, as his bond-mate celebrated and danced and drank with both his best-friend Tommy Merlyn and the others who’d been invited.

The only real break in his boredom had been watching Queen confront his young sister, lifting drugs from her purse – which had Diggle arching a brow at the smooth endeavor, but he supposed when you lived on an island for five years with a soldier-cum-agent like Black you picked up things – and tossing them with no one any the wiser.

However, losing his client was _not_ on the list of things Diggle was planning on when he’d started his day at the Queen Mansion that morning, let alone doing it twice: once by Queen leaving before he even arrived, and now for a second time as Diggle tried and failed to get eyes on the Alpha socialite.

Spotting Black in a new shadowed alcove up on the second-floor balcony, Diggle loped up the stairs, reaching the Omega’s side in a matter of moments.

“Have you seen Mr. Queen?”  He asked the other man when Black nodded in greeting.

Rather than speaking, Black just tugged over his rumpled collar – and when had that happened – showing a fresh mark on his shoulder.

“Getting cleaned up.”  Black said simply, the mark and the scent on the Omega needing no further explanation.  “Should be back in a minute or two.”

“Talking about me?”  Oliver asked, as he trotted over to his lover’s side, the two of them the very picture of just-shagged much to Diggle’s visible amusement.

“Lost you there for a minute.”  Dig explained, his inner entertainment hidden by his professional blank face.  At least they were up to things other than getting stupid-drunk and puking on his shoes like the other trust-fund babies he’d watched over as a bodyguard.  “Next time you two want a quickie, give me a heads up first, yeah?”

“Sure thing, Dig.”  Oliver agreed with an empty-headed, affable smile, wrapping one arm around Harry and tugging him over towards the stairs and the dance floor.  “Now _someone_ promised me a dance…”

Diggle couldn’t hear what Black’s response would be to that beyond a despairing moan – though it would’ve likely proven entertaining – as the doors burst open as they hit the top of the stair-well, Starling’s finest breaking into the room.

“Is the music too loud, Lieutenant?”  Oliver called obnoxiously as Tommy jogged over to their side from the bar, Lieutenant Lance climbing up and meeting them after giving out orders to his men.  “We’ll turn it down: scouts honor.”

“You were never a Boy Scout, Queen.”  Lance snarled.  “And we’re here because a man in a _hood_ just killed Adam Hunt next door before repelling over into this building.  Where we find you and your new _friend_.  Isn’t that just… _interesting_?  How about it Queen, seen your hooded savior anywhere?”

“Umm…no.”  Oliver arched a brow, playing up his reputation as obnoxious and slightly dumb to the hilt.  “But here, let me help you out.”  Raising his voice above the still-playing music Oliver called out: “Two million dollars to whoever finds a whack-job in a hood!”

An answering chorus of shouts rang up from the party as Lance scoffed and sneered.

“Cute, Queen, real cute.”  Lance jabbed.  “Always got a smart answer for everything, don’t you?”

…

_Starling City Channel 3 News, 2012_

_“A new story today as word of a hooded vigilante has swept through the streets of Starling City, rescuing the city’s favorite Alpha Oliver Queen from kidnappers, before killing corrupt businessman Adam Hunt with what sources have confirmed was a green arrow.  Starling City PD has no comment to make on the ongoing search for the masked man who seems to be making himself right at home in Starling…”_

On the other side of the world in a rat-infested slum of Nepal, an ASIS agent turned around as he tuned into the translated world news, the name Oliver Queen catching his utter attention…

_…_

_Author’s Note:_ I have to say that I love the idea of Malcolm as Oliver’s father rather than Thea.  And one of my favorite Oliver/Slade fics does it super well.  But personally, I found it a little unbelievable in any reality that a doctor would release private information like a DNA test or in canon Oliver’s scarring, to another person even if they’re a parent when the patient in question is over 18.  Can you say massive HIPPA violation and lawsuit anyone?  Where Moira and Malcolm having their “contacts” and little spies dig up protected information makes so much more sense to me.

On another note: yes, I intentionally made Oliver younger and skipped out on the Laurel-dating thing.  Sara still went but because she was the one with Oliver at the time, no nasty-nasty sister-sharing going on in my little corner of the world.

Slade is 17 years older than Oliver in this and Harry is 11 years older approximately.

This is an A/U…I can do that…so there.

Love, Sif


	3. Two - Asis Team 7

** Al Darbat Qatila **

**Chapter Two: ASIS Team 7**

Author’s Note: I’m making up some dates here, mainly to help manage the flashbacks and passage of time in the story.  While they’re on the island they’ll use rough seasonal estimates, while I’m playing with the dates I’m assuming Arrow modern events took place in.

Also, in response to the reader who asked for the name of my fav Slade/Ollie fic, it’s Dark Arrow by Palaserece.

…

_Lian Yu, Late Spring 2008_

Coming awake with a spluttering cough and an aching neck, Oliver gasped softly as he leveraged himself upright, one hand coming up to rub at his bruised and abraded neck.

Once again, Yao Fei had saved his ass, reinforcing the idea that Fyers had something over the Chinese man that was making him go along with whatever the bastard had planned – or perhaps it would be more accurate to say Fyers’ employers, as the man was completely unabashed about being little more than a hired thug.

Determined to figure this out and get _all_ of them off the island: himself, Yao Fei, and the absent Harry; Oliver stood, patting himself down for injuries of which he had many, but also finding a folded up piece of paper tucked away in his sleeve.

A map.

With a circled area and a single word written on the top: _Shēngcún._

Survive.

…

_Starling City Police Department, October 17, 2012_

“Come _on_ , people!”  Lieutenant Quentin Lance cried as he read the results of the latest forensics report.  “Give me _somethin’!_ ”

“Calm it down, Quentin.”  Hilton soothed his partner, turning him towards the black white board he’d moved in to be the start of their “Hood” evidence tree.  “Let’s run it down: what do we know _for sure_.”

“One guy in a hood, who may or may not have help.”  Lance rattled off the information, watching as Hilton wrote “Hood” in one corner of the board and “Accomplice(s)?” in the other.  “No idea what dynamic they are, though most everyone we’ve talked to are pretty set on it being a male.”

“Ok, good.”  Hilton nodded, adding male under the Hood column.  “What else?”

“No idea on size, shape, ethnicity, _nothing_.  Everything is covered by that get-up he wears.”  Lance gestured towards his face.  “Uses a bow and arrows.”

Hilton wrote the new information under the Hood column then in the middle between accomplices and the hood wrote: knives, hand-to-hand, explaining: “Forensics showed knife wounds on one of the bodyguards from the Hunt case with a matching weapon.”  Added guns.  “And several bodies have been found with bullet holes in them that are either friendly-fire or our guy being opportunistic.”

“Great.”  Lance rubbed his hand over his eyes.  “That’s fantastic.  First time he showed up was the Queen kidnapping.  Which is a whole other issue in itself.”

His partner wrote Queen Kidnapping in the certain between the two columns as well, since it’d never been confirmed how many were involved there then lowered the pen with a sigh as he leveled a firm look on Lance.

“I know you’ve got beef with the Queen kid, Quentin.”  Hilton said understandingly.  “But there’s nothing at all tying him to the case except bad timing.  No DNA, no fingerprints, not even opportunity as he’s had alibis for each event except the kidnapping – which he was the victim of.  You gotta keep a clear head man.”

“I know, I got it.”  Lance rolled his shoulders in agitation.  “It just rubs me the wrong way.  Queen comes blowing back into town, taking over his scene like he’d never been gone, with a former soldier and British agent of all things in tow.  _Days_ later if that, this vigilante shows up…”  He shook his head.  “I’m not buying it, Hilton.”

“We looked up the bond-mate remember, Quentin.”  Hilton jabbed the pen at his partner.  “No issues, not even a traffic ticket before he goes missing.  Saved a guy’s life in the RAF which netted him a handful of medals and a job with MI-5.  Gets early retirement due to an injury and goes missing weeks later, assumed to do with his work for his government but never found until he shows up on Lian Yu.  Is it hinky?”  He arches a brow.  “Definitely.  But there’s no case in hinky with no evidence to back it up.”

“Ok, ok.”  Lance threw up his hands.  “So the Hood leaves a handful of dead bodies of rich dirtbags and low-level thugs all over the city: sometimes uses deadly force, sometimes not.  But every time without fail he leaves behind his calling card of:” he read from the report he’d just tossed aside.  “Green-fletched carbon-steel arrows with hand-shaped arrow heads.  Completely useless and untraceable.”

He slammed the report back down, staring at the board Hilton was still filling in the details on.

“Who the hell is this guy, a wanna-be Robin Hood?”

…

_Starling City, The Foundry, same day_

It was a jittery Tommy Merlyn that gingerly made his way through the construction zone the old Queen foundry had become as he waded through the noise and mess towards what he thought had the makings of a bar, where his best-friend Oliver stood over some blueprints with his bond-mate and the foreman beside them.

“So this is what you do?”  He joked as he came within earshot.  “Barely back two weeks and you’re going into business for yourself as a club-owner?”

“Well, you know.”  Oliver gave him a self-effacing grin as he moved to slap back with Tommy.  “Not much call for a high-school graduate who never went to college in the rat race.  Figured I’d occupy my time with something I’m actually _good_ at: partying.”

“Don’t worry.”  Harry said, humor ripe in his tone.  “Oliver’s just the front man.  I know I thing or two about running a business.”

“Yeah, family money, right?”  Tommy said with a join-the-club smile.  “Only you actually were taught what to do with it?”

“Well.”  Harry coughed as Oliver frantically shook his head at his best-friend but too late to stop the sensitive subject.  “When one is orphaned at a year and a half, one has no choice but to learn what to do to manage his inheritance.”  Shrugging off Tommy’s concern, he waved his hand before the Alpha could start tripping all over himself to apologize.  “Now, I believe I was promised lunch by my ravishing bond-mate, so if we could locate Dig…?”

“Right here, Mr. Black.”  Dig, as professional as always when they were in public no matter how much Oliver and Harry had worked at getting him to loosen up in private, appeared around the back of the bar.  “The limo is waiting.”

“Limo?”  Tommy murmured in an aside to Oliver with an arched brow, knowing he hated the show the flashy vehicle made every time they went out.

“Harry’s idea since we all drove separately today.”  Oliver shrugged it off as he left his hardhat by the back door where the open view showed the waiting ride.  “With all the crews here the cars will be safe out front, or did you take a taxi?”

“In the Glades?”  Tommy snorted.  “Hell no.  I drove.”

“Alright.”  Harry clapped his hands together as Dig shut the door behind Oliver and moved to take the passenger seat, giving the driver the go-ahead.  “To _Kobe_.”

“The steakhouse?”  Tommy blinked.  “I haven’t been there in years.”

Mainly because it was his dad’s favorite place to dine out when he wasn’t schmoozing some idiot into a deal.

“I figured.”  Oliver said, with a light laugh.  “But I haven’t either and I spent more than one night on the island dreaming about their onion soup and Kobe beef platter with tempura.”

Tommy groaned a little, his stomach reminding him that he’d skipped breakfast.

“Sold.”  He said with a sigh.  “What the hell.  For old time’s sake.”

“That’s the idea.”  Harry and Oliver shared a look that was lost on the dark-haired Alpha, Harry’s just shy of smug.

He knew that gambit would work.

In only a couple weeks, he’d hit on Tommy being a sucker for his loved ones which included Oliver and Thea.  And he had zero problem taking shameless advantage of it.  Like now.

Leading the little lamb into a meeting with the big bad wolf: at least as far as Tommy was concerned.

But then…

Malcolm Merlyn would never be anyone’s idea of a sheep.

Much like a lot of others they’d met in the last five years.

Though at least Malcolm wasn’t likely to greet them with a knife to the throat and being tied to a chair.

No.

Something told Harry he was more the slow knife in the dark or poisoned arrow type.

Only time would show Harry just how right about this feeling he indeed was.

…

_Lian Yu, Late Spring, 2008_

“Make a move and I’ll slit your throat.”  The husky growl came along with a heavy Alpha scent, similar to that of Oliver’s torturer but so very different, especially with the tang of salt and eucalyptus the Alpha carried with him.

Granted, Oliver could’ve done without the sharp knife at his throat but…at least it wasn’t the Alpha that haunted his worst dreams.

Oliver held his arms out as the Alpha frisked him from behind, staying out of his line-of-sight in the ruins of an airplane shell.

“How did you find me?”  The Alpha demanded.  “Who sent you?”

“Yao Fei sent me.”  Oliver answered quickly when the knife got a little too close for comfort to drawing blood.  “He pretended to kill me, gave me a map, and left my _dead_ ,” the drawl on the word was clear.  “Body outside Fyers’ camp.  I’d been captured trying to help him.”

“What are you doing here, kid?”  The Alpha asked in disgust as he got a good look at the Omega’s face.  Christ.  The old man had sent him a whelp Omega, barely off his mum’s teat.  “Turned on Fyers when you got a good look at what you signed up for huh?”

He spat in disgust.  If there was one thing he hated, it was a traitor.  Cowards being only one tick down the list.

Oliver took in the Alpha’s appearance quickly: dark hair and eyes, heavy muscles, tanned skin, Aussie accent, some kind of military gear in black and grey, weird scarf around his neck, knives all over including the one he still kept on his neck with a firm and ease grip.

“No.”  He said honestly with a gee-shucks shrug.  “My family’s boat went down.  I washed up on the shore of this place and Yao Fei took me in after he shot me when I was done burying my dad.”

“Christ, it’s even worse than I thought.”  The Alpha rolled his eyes and threw his hands up towards the sky after putting away his knife.  “Not only a whelp of a pup Omega but a spoiled rich one on top of it.”  He shook his head, pointing towards the exit to the aircraft.  “Get lost, kid, and forget you ever found me.  You’re not worth the effort it’ll take to keep your pampered ass alive.”

“What?”  Oliver asked, bewildered and beginning to panic.  He had no idea where he was, let alone how to find Harry from here.  Besides which, Yao Fei sent him to this guy for a reason.  He just needed to find out what it was.  “What, why, no!”  He nearly shouted, making the massive Alpha spin and face him, looming over him from his six-four-ish height Oliver guessed, based on how tall he thought he’d grown since hitting the island almost a year ago.  “Look.”  He waved his arms ignoring the growl coming from the Alpha.  “Yao Fei sent me here, _to you_ , for a reason, whatever that might be.  Besides, I don’t even know where I am, let alone my way back to his cave, if it’s even safe there anymore now that Fyers has him.  We have to try and save Yao Fei or figure this thing out or…”

Before Oliver could say another word, the Alpha rolled those dark coffee eyes and struck out with one massive fist, knocking him unconscious.

“Pups.”  Slade Wilson sneered down at the crumpled form at his feet.  “Never know when to shut up.”

…

_Starling City, The Kobe Steakhouse, October 17, 2012_

Tommy knew he should’ve asked more questions as he was led around the corner of the steakhouse dining room and into one of the private lounges reserved for the higher-end clientele.

And clapped eyes on his father.

His best-friend had just led him into a trap.

Betrayed blue eyes stared over a lean shoulder as Harry wrapped one arm around Tommy’s waist and propelled him to keep walking, all-but-shoving him into a chair opposite his father with the bond-mates sitting opposite each other at the four-seater table, Diggle taking up position outside the door next to one of what Tommy now recognized as one of his father’s goon duo who followed him around.

“Just listen Tommy.”  Oliver said as the waitress poured them all cups of steaming tea, Harry deftly using chopsticks to serve some of the appetizers to each man, somehow knowing what they all preferred, even his father.

“We thought, all of us.”  Malcolm began after giving Harry a polite nod for serving.  “That a neutral place would be best for this.  Given the…hard…nature of what is about to be disclosed to you.”

“What?”  Tommy shook his head as he picked up the chopsticks, used to eating under duress from years of living with his father or having to play nice at society functions.  Nothing was going to throw him off his food if he had anything to say about it.  “What in the _hell_ could you three all have in common to talk to me about?”

“I’m more of a…referee.”  Harry offered, nibbling lightly at a tempura prawn.  “This is really your dad and Oliver’s show.”

“Okay…”  Tommy drawled, copying Harry’s actions and going for some of Kobe’s awesome shrimp with the mayo-something dipping sauce.  Yum.  At least for a trap it had good bait.  “I repeat: what the _hell_.”

“You remember me saying there was a hold up on my return, with getting my identity confirmed?”  Oliver asked, Tommy giving an agreeing noise around his mouthful of tea, making a get on with it motion.  “Well.  The actual issue was when they went to compare my DNA with my next of kin…”

Tommy Merlyn could be called many things.

Stupid wasn’t one of them.

Lowering his chopsticks and their delicious bundle of piping-hot gyoza to his plate, Tommy’s eyes shot from Oliver’s face, the face of his best-friend and almost-brother, to one he nearly mirrored, that of his father.

Chopsticks clattered to the table from a suddenly-slack hand.

“Holy _shit_.”  Tommy breathed, nearly hyperventilating from shock.  “There’s no way…”

“Yes,” Malcolm said with a grimace.  “I’m afraid there is, son.”

“But Mom?”  Tommy said weakly, anger sparking in his ice blue eyes.  “ _Mom_!”

“Was a Beta.”  Malcolm said with his infernal calm, knowing that this was the hardest part for Tommy to accept.  “We weren’t bonded.  Which unfortunately left me vulnerable in the face of any Omega scheming enough to try and take advantage of that fact.”

“You mean Moira?”

“Pre-Heat.”  Malcolm shook his head, still finding it hard to swallow himself.  “Robert and Moira Queen may have presented themselves as the next thing to the Cleavers, but I assure you: the truth wasn’t nearly that perfect or pretty.  They both carried out affairs during the entirety of their marriage and even before.  I regret the act that made your brother, Tommy.”  Malcolm stared at both his sons’ faces, one understanding, one shocked but…getting there.  “But I _don’t_ and will never regret that Oliver exists and has returned into our lives.”

“Wait, wait.”  Tommy held up one hand, pinching his nose with the other.  “How long have you both known?”

“Hong Kong.”  Oliver shrugged.  “It explained a lot, especially about how Robert was in my high-school years.”

Tommy nodded understandingly at that, watching his friend in sympathy.  They’d both had to deal with loving dads doing 180’s.  But at least Tommy had had the Queens to fall back on.  All Oliver had had was Tommy and a too-young-to-understand Thea.

“I found out shortly after Oliver.”  Malcolm understood at once that Tommy wanted to know if Malcolm had known their whole lives: which would make the entire sordid affair a double betrayal.  Thankfully, that was one sin he wasn’t guilty of.  “But your brother only came to talk to me about the situation a few days after his return to the city.  We’ve been… _trying_ to get things into something like order before talking to you, as well as Thea, Moira, and Walter about the situation.”

There was silence throughout the room after Dig knocked lightly, alerting them to the next course, which was salads and soups brought in by a beautiful waitress.  Tommy arched a brow, and Malcolm merely smiled, when both Harry and Oliver thanked her – in clear Japanese.

“Dude.”  Tommy tossed a grin at his newly-found brother.  “You speak Japanese?  As well as Russian?  What, was that island filled with murky-spyie-types from all over the world?”

The murky, spy-y, types being a good-natured jab at Harry’s expense, the other man just toasting him with his bowl of soup as he sipped directly from the rim to get at the broth before going after the mushrooms and onions with his chopsticks.

That actually looked like a really efficient way to do it, Tommy thought as he watched Oliver echo his bond-mate’s actions while his dad – _their_ Dad? – watched in visible amusement, shrugging he set the spoon aside and followed suit.

Yeah.

That was actually a really good way to do that.

The things you learn…

“You’re not far off.”  Oliver said dryly.  “But it was less murky-spy types and more vicious-mercenary types, at least in the beginning.”

“Oh.”  Tommy said, not sure how to respond to that.  “So…”  He drawled, picking his way through his salad.  “Moira what, jumped you on a pre-heat?”

“It was a little more complicated than that.”  Malcolm shifted a bit.  “She came over to see Rebecca but she’d gone to a spa weekend retreat.  Robert had flaunted another affair with his usual lack of discretion and she wanted a shoulder to cry on.”

“And being an Alpha.”  Harry supplied quietly, knowing what was likely to have happened from there.  “Faced with an upset Omega who he was close with, Malcolm would’ve had a very difficult time resisting offering her comfort.  From there, with pheromones in play…”

“Yeah.”  Tommy said, slumping a bit in his seat.  He was an Alpha himself.  He knew the score.  “Yeah, I get it.  Even if it kills me a little bit inside to think about.”

“Your mother understood.”  Malcolm sighed, missing his wife in the wake of Oliver’s discovery more than ever.  “And in time she forgave me for it, even if she never really forgave or recovered her relationship with Moira.”

“They were always…”  Tommy thought back, squinting.  “Polite I guess.  But never as close as everyone else was.”

“For good reason.”  Malcolm nodded.  “Though from my understanding, Moira never told a soul about Oliver’s parentage, and did everything she could to hide it.  From the public, Robert, and Oliver himself.”

Another knock heralded the clearing of the table and the smell of sizzling premium Kobe beef with rice or noodles, teasing at all of their olfactory glands.

They spoke quietly about nothing until the room was clear again, each man taking a moment to savor their dish before bringing the topic of the hour back up.

“What things did you guys need to get settled that made you wait to talk to everyone?”  Tommy asked, his curiosity pinging at him.

“Malcolm is going to claim me.”  Oliver sucked in a deep breath, hoping that Tommy would take this news as well as he had the rest – though his instincts told him that the Alpha was just overloaded and would likely blow-up another time once he’d processed.  Likely at Malcolm.  “Publicly.  We…”

“I wanted to make sure that your brother isn’t left out in the cold if Moira or Queen Consolidated’s board makes trouble.”  Malcolm supplied.  “Oliver has been working on shifting his personal assets out of the Queen aegis, including his new club…”

“Opening soon.”  Oliver said with a proud little pep in his voice.

“He refused a positon with Merlyn Global.”

“There’s a shocker.”  Tommy muttered, the two new-found brothers sharing a grin as their father rolled his eyes in a rare, open show of exasperated fondness.

“But I have put him on my various policies and written him into my will.”  Malcolm gave Tommy a concerned look.  “To come into effect in the next few days…I’ve made it an even split between you minus the charitable donations…”

“Dad.”  Tommy shook his head holding up one hand.  “Yes, this is a shock.  Yes, I’m not really processing at the moment.  But one thing I can tell you: Oliver’s my brother.  Always has been.  Far as I’m concerned we’re just making it legal.  Okay?”

“Okay.”  The other men echoed relieved smiles all around as the subject was temporarily dropped.

After a few minutes of mindless chatter, and a resurgence of good-feelings that had been absent for a long time in the Merlyn family, Harry shot a smirk at Oliver and Malcolm before turning his patented “charming” smile on Tommy.

“So.”  He drawled.  “Tommy.  Have you ever thought of going into the night club business…?”

…

_Lian Yu, Late Spring 2008_

Oliver groaned as he woke to the all-too-familiar throbbing headache and dizziness that went alongside being knocked unconscious.

It was getting to be a habit, one he’d rather hip in the bud than allow to continue.

What happened next was mostly a blur…right up until the dual pain of his dislocated wrist and his knuckles from punching one Slade Wilson, right in that smirking mouth.

As the white-hot pain shot through him, rather than the life-ending stab he’d expected, all he heard as a laugh.

“I’ll be damned, kid.”  Slade laughed, rather shocked he wasn’t ashamed to admit as he spat out the blood that had pooled from his teethed being crushed against his lips.  “You’ve got some fight in you yet: maybe you are of use to me.”  He smirked, reaching over to finish untying the gangly pup.  “Not much strength though.”  His eyes flashed wickedly.  “Don’t worry: we’ll fix that.”

Quickly splinting the kid’s wrist, Slade explained rapidly why Yao Fei likely sent the pup his way.

“Yao Fei and I were working on a way off this damned rock.”  Slade jabbed one finger towards an area on the map he’d spread out.  “About _here_ is an airstrip: no aircraft, but every three months like clockwork there’s a supply run.  That’s our ticket out.  Only problem is: the next run is in a month, June I’d wager if my time’s right, and it’ll take two men to hijack it.”

“Why two?  Aren’t you some kinda big-bag special agent man or something?”

“ASIS, kid.”  Slade rolled his eyes.  “Australian version of your yank CIA but without being a bunch of pussies.  There’s a ten-man team guarding the strip at all times: that’s not the problem, I can handle them meself.”

“What is the problem?”  Oliver winced as he flexed his sore wrist.  Slade had popped it roughly into place and wrapped it but it throbbed like a bitch.

“Traffic control tower.”  Slade scowled.  “It’s the kind your lot deploy to disaster areas like Thailand after emergencies: made of high-density bullet-proof glass.  The guy up there radios a problem and we’re sundered.”

“So…”  Oliver felt like an idiot.  Or as if he was missing something _really_ obvious.  “What do you need me for?  Isn’t Harry MI-5?  Can’t he go with you?”

Slade slowly raised his head, like a predator scenting prey as he locked burning brown eyes on Oliver.

“Who the _fuck_ is Harry?”

…

_Starling City, Laurel Lance’s Apartment, October 18, 2012_

Red and blue lights flashed against the walls of Laurel’s apartment as her father Quentin ran through the door, taking in the scene with a glance:

Shattered windows, wrecked furniture and artwork, Laurel, Oliver, and the kid’s bodyguard all bloody and bruised, through the kid and his bodyguard much worse than Laurel who looked like she’d escaped with little more than scratches while Oliver was sporting a cut to his shoulder and the bodyguard – Diggle or something he thought – had one hell of a goose-egg and a bleeding cut to his head.

“Laurel!”  He shouted as he came thundering to a stop at her side, kneeling down to wrap her in his arms.  “Laurel, baby, what happened?”

“I don’t know.”  Laurel answered mystified.  “Ollie came over to talk, even brought ice cream.  We were sitting down and talking, things were ok, normal, then…”

“Then?”  He prompted sharing a glance with the uniform that was writing everything down.

“The power went out.”  Laurel whispered.  “Next thing I know, some crazy woman with white hair came in through the window with a couple others and started throwing knives and stuff all over the place.  They were going to _kill_ me, Dad.  They weren’t even trying to hit Ollie.  It was all me.”

“Mr. Queen got Ms. Lance out but was injured in the process – I was knocked out before the power was cut.”  Diggle added in his two cents.  “She woke me up and used my cell to phone it in before insisting we go back to help Mr. Queen.”

“They weren’t here for me, Dig.”  Oliver sighed, shaking his head.  “I only got _these_ ,” he winced pointing to the bruises and cuts, including the nasty one on his right shoulder.  “Because I got in the way.”

“Woman with white hair, ok.”  Lance thought furiously.  “Any other identifiers?”

“She looked Asian to me.”  Oliver shrugged.  “About the same height as Laurel from when she was kicking my ass all over the living room.”

“Sounds like Chien Na Wei.”  Hilton offered his partner.  “Chinese Triad.  And Laurel did just file that suit against their buddy Somers.”

“Jesus this is a nightmare.”  Lance gritted his teeth.  “The fucking Triad after my girl.”

“That isn’t everything.”  Laurel added tearfully.  “That guy, the hood guy, he was here…”

“What?!”  Before Lance could demand an explanation, a new sound of shouting caught their ears, only this time it had a British accent.

“Oliver, damn it get _out_ of my way you useless colonial twat!  Oliver!”  Harry stormed right passed the black-and-white that tried to stop him, ignoring the demands that he cease, Hilton calling off the uniform before it could get ugly, remembering Queen’s bond-mate from the kidnapping issue.  “ _Oliver_.”  This time it was breathed like a benediction as Harry sank down, grabbing Oliver’s hands in his own, emerald gaze cataloging each and every scrape.  “Can’t let you out of my sight for two minutes, I swear…”

“Mr. Black.”  Detective Hilton nodded at the Brit.  “We’re in the middle of finding out what happened here, so if you don’t mind…?”

Harry waved them off, moving to sit next to his bond-mate, already knowing that he was going to have to arrange a trip to the ER for Oliver.  Too many people had seen him with a nasty cut to do otherwise.  Like Harry doctoring it himself and using Yao Fei’s “magical herbs of healing” as Oliver called them to this day.

Oliver leaned closer, whispering in only ivory ear after brushing back Harry’s fringe that had escaped from his braid.  “Useless colonial twat?”  He teased.  “Haven’t heard that one in a while.”

“When the occasion calls for it.”  He sent his lover an arch look.  “I am more than ready to use it, as you well know.”

…

_Lian Yu, Slade’s base, late Spring 2008_

“You’re telling me that Yao Fei has another ally on this island?”  Slade asked incredulously as he stared boggle-eyed at the kid.

He was actually glad in that moment that he’d decided against killing the kid and cutting the dead weight.

This was valuable information, and the kid just handed it over without a by-your-leave.

Which meant he trusted Slade for some reason, it definitely wasn’t out of fear.  Anyone who can hold strong under Billy’s blade was worth at least a smidgen of respect.  Though it baffled Slade how the kid had so much faith in Yao Fei.

That trusting nature of him was going to get them _both_ killed yet, mark his words.

“Harry.”  Oliver shrugged, studying the map further.  “MI-5 or RAF or something like that.  Not the most social-minded person I’ve ever met but anyone would make Yao Fei look chatty.  He helped out Yao Fei with starting to train me and let me crash in his base when I went on heat since it wasn’t safe at Yao Fei’s cave.  He’s good people.”  He finished simply.

If there was one thing Oliver had learned so far, it was to trust his instincts.

And while Slade was one scary sonuvabitch, they were telling him that the Alpha was trustworthy.

“Must be an Omega then.”  Slade grunted.  “And a pommy at that if he’s either one of those designations.”

It wouldn’t have been safe leaving the kid alone with this _Harry_ otherwise, and Slade knew Yao Fei would’ve been aware of that.

“Pommy?”

“Slang, for a Brit.”  Slade bit out then swept his hand over the map.  “Okay kid, where can we find your limey buddy?”

Oliver tapped a couple of the markers on the map.

“This is us right, and these are the camps?”

“The ones I know of, there’s probably more.”  Slade grunted.  “It’s a big damn island to scout alone and what Yao Fei knew he wasn’t fond of sharin’.”

“So true.”  Oliver muttered thinking about over six months of nearly silent training aside from brief intervals with Harry to break the quiet.  “Then if _this_.”  He tapped a circled area on the other side of the island.  “Is where Yao Fei’s cave is then…”  He trailed off as he traced out the route with his finger as best as he could remember.  It’d been a while.  “Here.”  He tapped a series of lakes that are inland.  “Somewhere.”

“That’s a couple clicks square, kid.”  Slade arched a brow.  And in a shitty area to get to from their current positon.  “Take us a day or two to get in the general area and several more to search.  You sure this guy is still alive?”

“I’m sure.”  Oliver nodded decisively.  “And he’s not that hard to find: just look for the landlocked submarine.”

“We’ll look kid.”  Slade flicked Oliver on the forehead.  “I’m not about to leave you here alone.  You’ll be dead within hours without a babysitter.”

…

_Starling City, October 19, 2012_

“Chien Na Wei.”  Harry shook his head in disgust as he and Oliver sparred in the hidden basement of the soon-to-be-club.

The construction of the basement “lair” had taken first priority, and while neither of them were tech gurus or really knew what they needed in that way, they were pleased with everything else.

“Bitch is like a bad penny: she keeps on turning up.”  Harry continued, words effortless despite the constant clack-clack-clack of their bamboo practice swords.  “Now she’s in Starling?  Jesus.”

“At least some good came out of last night.”  Oliver responded, blocking a vicious strike from his lover and rolling out of the way of the following kick.  “Two witnesses not including the Triad saw myself and the vigilante in the same room and at the same time.  Plus when you showed up you looked exactly right: uninjured, frantic, and dressed down for a night in.”

“But they’re still watching me.”  Harry said.  “I think we need to manufacture the opposite: myself and the vigilante.  And if we ever trust your father or Tommy then both of us and the ‘hood.’”

A slashing strike and a nod was Oliver’s answer and their dance continued.

…

That night, after coercing a confession from Somers and leaving him wounded – but alive nonetheless – Oliver waited on the rooftops above the precinct, knowing that Harry was just inside discussing the threat the Triad posed to both Laurel Lance and the city in general.

…

“Let me get this straight.”  Quentin Lance stabbed one finger accusingly at one Harry Black, bond-mate of Oliver Queen, who had wandered into the SCPD building several hours before to talk to Lance and Hilton.  “You’ve run into the Triad before?  Specifically Chien Na Wei?”

“We’ve been over this Lieutenant.”  Harry sighed, leaning back and balancing his uncomfortable witness’s chair on two legs as his eyes idly panned over the bull pen, having memorized the layout – and especially the information on the “Hood” within the first half-hour.  Now it was just pure boredom.  Boredom that was leaking into his voice.  “Chien Na Wei or China White as she’s known to you yanks, is the Triad’s version of a troubleshooter: she’s high up, dangerous, and handles damn near anything they throw her at.  If she’s already in place to take a contract going after your girl, there’s bigger problems in this city than a vigilante or a drug-running scumbag.”

“Take a break Quentin.”  Hilton suggested.  “Why don’t you get some air or something.  I’ll finish up with Mr. Black.”

“Alright, alright.”  Lance groaned, standing and popping his back then pointing one finger at Black.  “You don’t go anywhere yet; I might have more questions for you once the air shakes things loose.”

“Aye, aye, lieutenant.”  Harry smirked, saluting mockingly before turning back to Hilton and discussing, _again_ , what he knew about the Triad from his “MI-5” days.  “I hope you appreciate the time with Oliver I’m sacrificing here.  I was promised ice cream and a back massage when he got home from working on the club.  He’s not going to be best pleased I’ve taken this long.”

“Smart ass limey.  My heart bleeds for you.”  Lance snarked back, hiding a smirk tugging at his lips as he turned away.  Damn sarcastic Brit bastard was growing on him.

Stepping out into the alley by the side door, Lance looked up at the moon just starting to rise.  He’d been at this long than he’d thought.  But something about Black tugged at his gut and he didn’t want to cut him loose until he knew what it was – even if he had no legal cause to keep him there and talking.

Out of nowhere something whistled past his ear, sending Lance into a crouch.  Grabbing for his gun, he whirled in the direction of where the – _Jesus, a fucking green arrow! –_ had come from.  Spotting the vigilante high above the precinct on a high rise roof, the hooded figure gave a little wave and a bow then pointed behind Lance and disappeared.

Cursing, he rushed to the precinct door, calling inside: “Hood spotted, high rise two doors down, get a team to sweep it _now!”_ As he spoke his partner rushed from the bullpen, Harry Black nipping at his heels to join him.

“Are you sure?”  Hilton asked, Black watching everything with those eerie green eyes, craning his head and peering around Lance as he stood framed in the doorway light.

“He’s sure.”  Harry answered for him, pointing at the green arrow buried in the alley wall at his back.  “And look: he left you boys a prezzie.”

“Shut up, Black.”  Lance sighed, turning back to the projectile.  “This is probably as much of a dead end as the rest.  It’s like he’s fucking _taunting_ me now.  What the…”  Frowning he noticed the bag dangling from the arrow shaft.  “Fuck?”

…

_The Next Day, the Foundry_

“You should’ve seen Dad’s face, Tommy!”  Laurel bubbled away on the other end of the phone as Tommy entered the bar-in-progress.  “The Hood all-but hand delivered the evidence I need against Somers!  He doesn’t know whether to be happy or livid.”

“That’s awesome Laurel.”  Tommy told her as he met up with Harry, Oliver, and Dig.  “I’m here now, gotta go.”

“Okay, talk soon.”

“Bye.”

Tommy ended the call with a swipe of a thumb, ignoring the knowing – and teasing – looks on the faces of his new friends – and brother.

It hadn’t taken him long to cave to the out he’d been given by his dad and brother – part of why he thought they’d laid the offer out there in the first place – that allowed him to leave his miserable job (that he really didn’t do anyway) for joining Oliver in making his club idea work.

The longer they’d discussed it the last couple of days, the clearer that they actually needed him and it wasn’t just a hand out became.  Oliver for all that he was good at throwing money at the problem, and knew what made for a good club, didn’t actually _know_ anything about running one.  And Harry for all his excellence with the managing the money and paperwork end of things…he really didn’t like people as a whole that much.

He had to admit, that had thrown him for a loop when he’d pegged it not long after Ollie’s return.

Mr. Popular Oliver with Mr. Anti-Social himself?

Now there was a pairing he never would’ve foreseen.

And it wasn’t even like Harry was awkward or anything.  No, not at all.  The Brit was smooth and charming and everything polite and sociable…when he had to be.  But the rest of the time?  Not even close.

That he could _somehow_ manage both his father and his brother was nothing less than a fucking _gift_.

But asking him to be out and about with the young, beautiful, vapid, and rich every single night like a club manager really needed to be?

That was Harry’s personal version of hell-on-earth…well after the island anyway.

“So…”  Ollie’s tone was pure tease.  “How’s Laurel?”

“Fuck off, Ollie.”  Tommy shot back with a perky grin.  “And I say that with _love_.”

All four men broke into snickers before the three club-owners-managers bent over the blueprints in preparation for the walk through with the city inspector who was coming to check out the electrical and plumbing before the contractors started roughing in the walls, Dig taking up his post near the doorway.

Just another day in Starling City.

…

_Lian Yu, Harry’s submarine/base, Late Spring 2008_

“Oh what the fuck is _this_ shit, bratling?”

Harry had spotted the pair moving his way long before they actually got there.  Fei never hunted on this part of the island and Fyers hadn’t made it this far in yet so it was safe – enough at least – for him to shift to hunt or keep an eye on things in his territory.  He wouldn’t admit – even to himself – that he’d been worried when Fei didn’t show for their scheduled meet up, especially with Oliver’s heat due soon – or so they guessed anyway.

He could’ve left this shit hole at any time – Merlin knows he was tempted – but in the end his stupid hero complex just wouldn’t let him be.  First with Fei, who was one of the most honorable men Harry had ever met.  Then with this little brat of a confused-as-shit naïve Omega.

As far as the guy he’d helped Fei break out of Fyer’s camp a while back…well…he was a big boy.

Literally.

He could take care of himself.

And if he couldn’t it was on the Alpha’s ass, not Harry’s.

Any man who could survive months of torture by Fyers’ fucked-up ass was too damn tough for Lian Yu to take down, that was certain.

Now here they come marching right up to his base and all-but-knocking: the behemoth Alpha himself and the spoiled brat Omega.

This had all the makings of a Potter-class-clusterfuck all over it.

Yay.

After years of conditioning himself to look – at least a little – before he leaped, Harry had to go and get attached to a smart-mouthed teenager with more balls than brains, just like Harry used to be.

Fucking sap.

Crossing his arms, he eyed the Alpha up and down who was returning the favor as Oliver stumbled all over himself to introduce them.  Big bastard.  Looked like he could bench-press a tank.  And judging by the smirk as the Alpha took in his skin-tight leather and plain t-shirt that clung to every ripple and divot, with the attitude to match.

The brat better have a damn good reason to subject him to this…Alpha-asshole.

“Harry, this is Slade Wilson.  Slade this is Harry.  You both were working with Yao Fei – he’s captured Harry, if you didn’t already know.  Yao Fei sent me to Slade…we still haven’t figured out why…”

“I think I have, kid.”  Slade spoke in his deep, richly accented rumble.  “Training you up to help with taking the airstrip _might_ work.  But if your friend here is really MI-5 or RAF, then he’ll make it a lot easier on all of us to manage it.”  He smirked.  “He didn’t send you to help me.  He sent you to make sure you let slip about pommy here.”

“Nice to meet you too, asshole.”  Harry bit back, rolling his eyes before focusing on Oliver and motioning towards _Slade_ with a jerk of his head.  “What’s his deal brat?”

“I…”  Oliver shrugged.  “Don’t really know.  Except that he was partnered up with Yao Fei in some deal to try and escape the island.”

“ASIS, Team 7, codename Deathstroke.”  Slade gave a vicious grin that was more a posturing baring of teeth to the – honestly delicious looking, Christ he’s been marooned too long – Omega.  “Me and my partner were sent here to extract Yao Fei when word came down that line about Fyers and his crew having him trapped here.”

“And your plane went down.”  Harry nodded, knowing that much for himself.  “You ended up captured and Fei helped save your ass after you escaped.  Where’s your partner?  From what I know about ASIS you boys aren’t easy to kill, especially not with a codename like that to haul around.”

“Billy.”  Slade clenched his jaw, hand flexing in the need to punch something.  Or someone and right now the limey little shit was looking fine to take out some rage on.  “Turned.  Damn godfather to my kid and sold me out without a second thought.”

“Figured.”  Was all Harry said, jerking one shoulder in a half shrug before turning and looking at Oliver who was studying Slade with something on his face that was going to get the brat hit – or knotted – if he wasn’t careful.  “Come on, I’ll show you around my home-sweet-home and you can explain this airstrip idea.  And it’s both.”  Meaning RAF and MI-5…at least that’s what his paperwork courtesy of Death said, though being a Hit Wizard was damned close.  “Brat?”

“Yeah, Harry?”  Oliver asked warily.

“Training.  Ten minutes.  You owe me for bring the tanned version of the Hulk to my doorstep and I’m in the mood to cash it in by making you wish you’d never been born when you wake up tomorrow.”

Oliver groaned lightly, Slade ambling along with the two Omegas with an intrigued look on his face.

…

_Starling City, October 22, 2012_

Oliver sighed internally as he walked into the living room of the Queen Mansion into a tableau that had all the hallmarks of an intervention – only sticking solely to his mother and Walter, Thea at school and Harry off doing research on their next name on the list while Dig made himself invisible in the chair positioned next to the front door so he was always ready to follow Oliver whenever he left the house.

When he was on duty anyway.

Or was even aware of Oliver leaving.

For a moment he wished Harry was with him instead of tracking down information on the next name – they really needed someone who was better at research than either of them.  Harry could do footwork like no one else Oliver had ever met, but was worse than him when it came to electronics.  Unless it was making something go boom.  His lover could blow shit up like nobody’s business.  Or forget he had electronics on him and fry them.

One of the things Oliver wished he’d done before getting stranded was going to college.

Even if he fucked around and partied like the old pre-island Oliver likely would have, at least he would have _some_ form of higher education apart from what he’d learned while…away.

Which turned out to be one hell of an education in itself, just not one anyone would claim as ordinary, or even especially useful if you weren’t, say, a vigilante, special agent, or contract killer.

Although considering that he was fluent in several languages now, he could always add interpreter to the list, though his Russian was more street slang and insults most of the time than the formal language he’d need to use for a career.

“Oliver!”  Moira stood and called out when it appeared he was going to bypass right by the living room.

There went the avoidance idea.

He sighed, closing his eyes and rolling his head on his shoulders, locking down his roiling emotions that pushed at him every time he saw her after what he learned – both in Hong Kong and from Malcolm himself.  Taking several deep breaths, he chanted a few lines Yao Fei had taught him under his breath to center himself, then turned and entered the living room.  Time to face the fire.

Here’s hoping he could keep his own seething mass of temper under control.

This really _wasn’t_ an opportune time to confront his mother, he was planning on waiting another week or two until things have really settled with Malcolm and maybe he’d had time to explain things to Thea.

All he wanted at this point was to pack his few things from the Mansion and move into the loft permanently.

But that would be a dead giveaway that Oliver knew something was wrong.

And from what he and Harry had been able to find, there was _something_ going on under the seemingly still and serene waters of Moira Queen and Queen Consolidated.

They just didn’t know _what_ yet.

“Oliver, dear.”  Moira gestured for him to sit on the couch facing herself and Walter, the two presenting a united parental – or semi-parental in the case of Walter – front.  “Sit down.  We need to discuss some things.”

“Yes?”  Oliver asked, a shoddily-concealed sigh in his voice, as he unzipped his buttery black leather jacket and sat where she’d all-but-commanded.  “About what?”

“About your future, sweetheart.”  Moira said in her condescending tone that somehow she’d previously – in his childhood – made come off as caring and concerned.

Now that was a skill Oliver wouldn’t mind learning.

“And the future of Queen Consolidated.”  She continued, hands folded precisely on the center of her lap, wedding and engagement rings gleaming.  After Harry’s confrontation with her, outing her as “Mrs. Steele”, she and Walter had sat down with Oliver and…explained things, her rings making a reappearance the next morning on her left hand.  “You’ve been back for weeks, you’ve settled in, I believe, _we_ believe it’s time for you to take up a position in the company.”

“Or.”  Walter shot a stern look at his wife.  “If you choose, I have had some research done on distance-education courses offered by various colleges if you’d prefer to finish the education your time away denied you before entering into the business world.”

Oliver arched a brow.  Maybe not as untied a front as he’d thought.  There was definite tension there.  Whether it was just over his future or not remains to be seen however.

“Mom.”  He looked between them.  “Walter.  As much as I… _appreciate_ your concern, I’m twenty-three.  And as Walter has pointed out I was never even able to begin college let alone finish.  A position at Queen Consolidated is a little ludicrous when you consider that the only thing I’m qualified for is being a gofer, or working in the mail room.  Even assistants require skills I don’t have.”

“That’s not…”  Moira started to protest only to be silenced by another look from Walter.

“If you truly feel that way, then that’s your choice.”  Walter nodded, man to man.  “Will you agree at the least to look over the information I’ve gathered for you?”

“Distance-college, like an online degree?”  Oliver asked, cocking his head musingly then gave a faint nod.  “Can’t hurt at least.  And if I can scrape through at least a couple years of school I won’t be completely useless to my business partners.”  He gave a self-effacing smile.  “Even if they’re not likely to fire me since they’re my bond-mate and brother.”

“Ah yes.”  Moira’s venom was barely concealed.  “Your little club idea.”

“How is that going?”  Walter asked with genuine interest, frowning down at Moira’s blonde head.  “You’ve added another partner besides Harry?”

“Tommy Merlyn.”  Oliver supplied with a nod.  “He’s going to manage the front-end while Harry runs the books and paperwork and I’m the draw and face of the club.”  He gave another grin.  “Since the only thing I really know how to do beyond high-school math and English is throw a party.”

“Yes, that’s right.”  Walter nodded.  “Young Mister Merlyn has always been quite close to the family.  He was a real support to your mother and sister while you were gone.  It’s not surprising you’d consider him family.  Well.”  Walter stood regally.  “I think this has been a productive chat all things considered.  Moira?”

“This club idea.”  She shook her head tsking.  “I don’t like it.  You should be focusing on the company.  On fulfilling your father’s legacy not running around town with Harry and Tommy.”

And just like that, Oliver’s tightly wound control of his temper snapped with a twang at hearing her speak so derisively of both his brother and his lover.

“Oh, I don’t know.”  He sneered, eyes flashing.  “My _father_ seems to rather approve of what I’m doing with my life since the island.  You know him quite well, Mom, remember?”  Moira’s face lost all color at his snarling tone.  “Malcolm Merlyn?  I should hope so anyway…after all…you did cheat on Robert with him.”

“What, Oliver, I don’t…?”  Moira gasped, wilting like a flower in the August sun at the sudden attack.

“Oliver?”  Walter sat back down, frowning fiercely as he tried to make sense of the younger man’s words.  “Whatever do you mean?  Moira?”

“Give it up, _Mom_.”  Oliver rolled his eyes, slamming his back against the couch cushion as he crossed his legs and arms churlishly.  “I know already, okay?  I know.  They did a DNA test on me when they picked me up from the island.  The secret’s out.”

“Moira?”  Walter prompted the nearly-hyperventilating woman once more, voice stern and unyielding.

“I never thought anyone would know.”  She whispered brokenly.  “I made _sure_ that no one would ever know of the…slip.”

“Some slip.”  Oliver muttered, knowing the story from Malcolm.  “From what I understand neither of you were faithful in your marriage.  Is Thea even Robert’s?  Or is she another _slip_ baby?”

“Oliver!”  Moira’s voice snapped.  “I understand you are…angry and confused but I am still your mother!  Any, to answer your most _foully phrased_ question, yes.”  She nodded, lips pinched.  “Thea is Robert’s.  And as far as anyone has ever known, _including_ Robert and Malcolm, so are you.”

“Sorry to burst your bubble, Mom.”  Oliver arched a sardonic brow.  “But they both know, or knew in the case of Robert.”

“What do you mean?”  Moira asked, her eyes wide with panic.  “Oliver?”

“Malcolm was alerted as soon as his sample was accessed.  We’ve had a meal or two since I’ve been back to…navigate the issue.”  Oliver phrased carefully.  “And I have reason to believe Robert knew as well, whether he ever came to you with his suspicions or not.”

“That’s ridiculous,” she scoffed.  “Robert never knew, I took _steps_ to ensure that anything that would alarm him was…”

“Suppressed?”  Oliver offered quietly, frozen on the inside.  Jesus.  Malcolm was right.  It had been his mother who had arranged him to appear as an Alpha.  And here he’d been hating Robert, though still with _some_ reason, and blaming it all on him for the last five years.  “Yeah Mom.”  His tone was glacial as she shot to her feet.  “I know about _that_ too.”

Panicking and gasping with her attempt to hold back her tears, Moira tore from the room, completely overwrought at having so many buried secrets come to life at once – especially in front of an audience.

...

“I’m sorry, Oliver.”  Walter shook his head, feeling lost and at-sea with the revelations Oliver had just heaped on him.  “I don’t even know what to say.”

“You’re a good man, Walter.”  Oliver sighed, leaning forward and propping his elbows on his knees, resting his chin on his linked hands.  “A good friend to Robert and a good husband to Mom and father to Thea.  I don’t blame you for any of this.”  He shrugged.  “Why would I?  This is all dirt that happened long before you came into the picture as anything other than a friend.”

Marshaling his wits, Walter took a breath and then said:

“As the CEO of Queen Consolidated, I have to warn you that once this comes out there will be nastiness with the board trying to muscle you out or buy out your shares of the company.”  He gave a rueful smile.  “And knowing Malcolm as well as I do, I can’t see him waiting long to make a formal declaration.”

“It’s in the works.”  Oliver confirmed, sharing a knowing look with the other man.  “Should hit public knowledge in the next couple of weeks.  What about Robert’s will?”

Walter nodded, appreciating the heads up.  “As the CEO and co-Executor, I can tell you that whether Robert knew or not, the will is iron-clad: you and Thea each received forty-five percent of his holdings in the company, your mother ten.  As far as the personal effects and holdings, the house.”  He waved one hand gesturing around them.  “The villa in France, the ski cabin in Vail, it’s an even split between yourself and Thea.”  Walter quirked his lips.  “If what you said about their relationship is true, then the near-snub to Moira finally makes sense.  At the time, I passed it off as him knowing she would be taken care of through you children and her own assets.”

“Thank you for that Walter.”  Oliver blew out a breath.  “It’s a worry that’s been on my mind for weeks but without cause I didn’t know how to approach you about it.”

“There will be trouble and talk, as I said.”  Walter reached over and clamped a reassuring hand on one shoulder.  “But we’ll weather the storm, Oliver.  As always.  Besides.”  He said with no-little humor.  “I’ve known Malcolm just as long as I have Moira.  And no matter what people say about him being cold, he’ll move heaven and earth to protect those he loves.”

“Yeah.”  Oliver gave a small chuckle as they rose.  “So I’m learning.  Let Mom know I’m going to stay at the loft for a while, okay?”  He shrugged, looking over at Diggle to make sure the other man was kept in the loop.  “I think we both need some space after,” he waved a finger in a circle.  “This.”

“Of course, son.”  Walter smiled understandingly.  “Whatever you need.  I’ll have my assistant forward that information on courses to the loft.”

“Thanks, Walter.”  Oliver said with feeling.  “Really: thanks.”

…

Walking up the stairs, Oliver checked the time on his phone.

Four o’clock.

School would be out but Thea wasn’t home yet.

Tapping a few icons on the touchscreen, he waited for the dial and then she picked up.

“Ollie?”

“Heya Speedy.”  He said as he shucked out of his jacket and shirt, changing into something less restrictive than his suit before throwing the leather jacket back over his jeans and t-shirt, lacing boots up his ankles.  “Things are a little tense with Mom right now, I’m going to stay at the loft a couple of days.”

“Ok, Ollie.”  Thea’s voice was worried.  “Everything ok?”

“It will be, eventually.”  He sighed.  “But at the moment: no.  You can come by anytime, ok?  This is just between me and Mom.”

“Sure, Ollie.”  He could hear the weariness in her young seventeen-year-old voice.  “I’ll stop by soon.  Maybe stay the night this weekend?”

“Sounds great.  Love you.”

“Love you too, bye.”

“Bye, Speedy.  Stay safe.”

Tromping back down the stairs, keys in hand, Oliver arched a brow at Dig.

“Riding with me or in the town car?”

“Town car.”  Dig gave a smirk.  “You drive like a maniac, and I’m not getting paid enough to die because you’re allergic to speed limits.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”  Oliver rolled his eyes.  “Everyone’s a critic.”

…

_Lian Yu, Harry’s Base, Late Spring 2008_

“Come on, kid.  Rise and shine.”

Oliver groaned, every inch of his body aching, and true to Harry’s promise, wishing he was dead, the too-cheerful sound of Slade’s voice punching through his exhausted coma and waking him up.

Moving like he’d break apart at any second, he peeled open his eyelids to see the smirking and dancing-eyed vision of Slade standing beside his bunk, arms crossed over his chest and visibly amused at the results of Harry’s training.

Stumbling blearily after Slade’s massive six-four form, they made their way into the galley where they were greeted by a wide-awake Harry, cups of hot herbal…something Oliver couldn’t call _tea_ , and a small mound of nuts at each place.

“We’re splitting our time with you, brat.”  Harry said as they appeared and sat at the empty spots at the metal table.  “In the mornings you’ll have a snack and tea, then you’ll be with Slade.  Lunch and then training with both of us.  Then dinner and with me.”  He cocked a brow as Oliver groaned under his breath, having already gotten a taste of what Slade considered “training” on the hike here.  “Nights are your own, though.”  Harry and Slade both smirked at him, irritating the hell out of him in his current sleepy – and pained – mood.  “You’ll probably be useless for anything more than sleep.”

“If you want off this island, kid.”  Slade said gruffly after scoffing his nuts and “tea” wincing a bit at the bitter taste of the herbs.  “You’ll need to learn and learn fast.  Faster than you have so far from what I can tell.”

“Yao Fei focused mainly on hunting and survival skills.”  Oliver offered, hunching over his cup as he sucked it down, used to the taste after dozens of cups of it over the months.  “Like gathering herbs and staying out of sight, setting and getting out of traps.”

“And that’s all good to know.”  Harry agreed with a shrug.  “But it’s not what we’ll need to deal with Fyers and get out of here.  Fei ever start teaching you how to shoot his bow?”

“Slapping bowls of water.”  Oliver frowned, cocking his head.  “Though what the hell that did I have no clue.  And it wasn’t like Yao Fei is the most…sharing kinda guy.”

Slade held up his empty cup as he felt tight muscles start to loosen and warm.  “What the hell was in this mess?”

Oliver rolled his shoulders with a smile, remembering saying something different but similar the first time he drank Harry’s concoction.  It wasn’t quite the same as Yao Fei’s healing and anti-infection mixture, but it worked really well for dealing with the aftereffects of muscle strain and poor energy.

“Old-time version of recovery supplements.”  Harry told Slade, leaning back in his chair and sipping slowly at his own mug.  “Tastes like crap but it works.  And with an approaching deadline we can’t wait and let Oliver have recovery days to prevent tears and injury.”

“Alright, kid.”  Slade stood after accepting Harry’s explanation with a shrug.  “Time to get going.  Outside and start running around the lake.”

“How long?”

“Until I tell you to stop.”

Rolling his eyes and growling under his breath, Oliver stomped off leaving Harry and Slade alone a moment before the Alpha rose to his feet and stretched.

“This isn’t your base…is it?”  Slade asked cannily, having noticed the rather un-lived-in air that the submarine had.  There were supplies, and both a bunk and a cell smelled of Oliver.  But nothing else.  Just the faint hint that the British Omega hung around sometimes, not enough of a scent trail to make it his actual camp.  “Just where you meet the kid and the old man.”

“Good nose.”  Harry said without answering, which was an answer in itself.  “Glad to see that you ASIS boys haven’t gone soft.”

Slade scoffed, flipping a finger at the little bastard.  “Like a pommy can talk about going soft.”

Harry held up his hands in a mocking display of surrender.  “Whatever you say, Aussie.  Whatever you say.”

Snorting, Slade stomped away to go make Oliver’s life hell for a couple of hours, Harry watched his back with a combination of entertainment and interest.

At least with his new…companions…he wouldn’t be bored.

Though Oliver could be a chatty little fucker.

Hopefully between him and Slade they can tire him out to the point where running his mouth was just too much damn effort.

Well.

A man can dream.

…

_Starling City, Harry and Oliver’s Loft, early morning October 23, 2012_

“Harry, what is it?”

He sighed, looking up from the laptop he was working on at his lover who had stumbled out of bed when the cold of the sheets had woken Oliver up.

“I pulled the most recent batch of surveillance from the Mansion.  Sit down, love.  It’s not good.”


	4. Three

** Al Darbat Qatila **

**Chapter Three: Auguries of Innocence**

_Starling City, the Loft, Early Morning October 23, 2012_

“I pulled the most recent surveillance from the Mansion.  Sit down, love.  It’s not good.”

…

It was the clanging that woke her up.

Thea blinked open pale green eyes and blearily eyed the red numbers on the alarm clock next to the queen-sized fluffy bed in Ollie’s guest room.

Well, she supposed it was technically _Harry’s_ guestroom since from what she’d gathered her brother’s bond-mate was the one on the deed.  But they were bond-mates – which was weird that they always made that distinction instead of just bonded or mates but whatever, Ollie was weird – so what was Harry’s was Ollie’s and all of that.  They’d stayed up late the night before when she came over, watching – on Thea’s insistence – a movie marathon.

So far she’d gotten them through the rest of 2007 and last night that’d started on 2008 with _Slumdog Millionaire, Iron Man,_ and finished out with the too-cute _Wall-E_.

Thea’d gotten the impression that the first movie had made Harry really uncomfortable – though she had no idea why it would – while both her brother and Harry had enjoyed Tony Stark’s snappy dialog and Harry had loved the cuteness of the animated robots in _Wall-E_.  Oliver’s tucking himself in close to Harry during _Slumdog_ and wrapping the normally tough, almost stoic, Omega up in his arms had merely reinforced her impression that there was something she was missing when it came to Harry.  But then, Ollie had nearly seemed like a stranger since coming back from the island so she supposed Harry had his share of secrets too.

Now whatever that was going on at – Jesus – _six-thirty on a Saturday_ , had her grumbling and stumbling out of bed and making her way out onto the balcony that overlooked the main living area of the open floorplan loft.

What she saw there had her stunned and blinking, as she watched her brother – _Ollie ­for godssakes_ – fighting Harry with what looked like a pair of metal poles…which at least explained the clanging.

But it wasn’t the mind-boggling fight – and _damn_ did the two of them look like they knew what they were doing – that had her shouting _“Ollie!_ ” and running down the stairs.

No.

It was the sight of her brother – her wonderful, sweet, loving brother – without his shirt.

And laying eyes for the first time on real, visceral evidence that sweet Ollie had been through hell.

So many scars.

The tattoos were interesting but were quickly discarded in her rush as she swiftly catalogued each and every mark both front and back as Oliver whirled and turned to face her, a stunned look on his face, at her shout.

Her focus was nearly so complete that she almost missed seeing Harry reach over onto the kitchen counter, setting down his poles, and slipping a shirt over his head.

Nearly.

Harry’s scars were very different than Oliver’s in ways that Thea couldn’t quite process at the moment but she would think about that another time.  Right now she had a brother who was frantically following his lover’s lead, tossing on a shirt, as if hiding what she’d already seen would hold her at bay.  As if.

“Ollie!”  She said, coming to a stop and throwing her arms around him.  “I saw, I saw, you were _hurt_!  Hurt really bad!”  She babbled, leaning back and holding his resigned face in her hands as her eyes tracked all over him.  “Someone _did that to you_!”

“We weren’t alone on the island, Speedy.”  Oliver told her quiet, his own hands raising and twining with her own, lowering them from his face and holding them between them.  “At points we were…but not always.  And not everyone was…friendly.”

“Jesus, Ollie.”  Thea said weakly, tears leaking out from her eyes.  “You were hurt, hurt so bad…does Mom know?”

Harry and Oliver traded a glance.

“She might.”  Oliver told her simply.  “If she dug or had someone do some digging.  But I haven’t said anything and she hasn’t seen…”  He released her and waved a hand over his chest.

“Why wouldn’t you say anything?  Is this what you and Mom are fighting about?”

That was really what Thea was stuck on.  It _horrified_ her what her brother has been through.  Seeing the scars and marks left behind on him answered a lot of questions she’d had.  But what had really struck her since he’d been home was just how much he’d changed since he came home – and how closed off he was from everyone, except Harry.

“No, Speedy.”  Oliver tugged her over to sit on one of the barstools as Harry started puttering about making tea and throwing together something to eat.  “We’re not fighting.  I just found out some things and…I needed some time to deal with them.”

“About Mom?”  Thea frowned, wrapping her hands around the mug Harry offered her with a nod of thanks, glad to have something to keep her hands busy.  “Is this about Walter, or one of her affairs?”

“You know about those?”  Oliver arched a brow in surprise.

Thea gave Oliver a deadpan look saying: “Mom’s not been exactly _discrete_ since you disappeared.  I was happy actually when she settled down with Walter.  He’s a lot better than some of the guys she was hanging off of in the beginning.”

“Wow.  Okay.”  Oliver fiddled a little bit with his tea, taking a too-hot sip before finally coming out with it.  “It has to do with that…but not.  It’s a lot _older_ than the Gambit.”

“So, what?”  Thea arched a brow, temporarily distracted from pursuing the scars but knowing she could come back around to it another time.  Oliver was obviously uncomfortable with talking about them.  She could only hope that the longer he was home the more he would open up.  “She was messing around on Dad?”

“And Dad on her, yeah.”  Oliver sighed.  “Which is where the big problem came up and why Mom and I are…taking some space from each other.”

“What?  Like you’re not Dad’s kid?”  Thea’s eyes shot wide at the miserable nod from Ollie.  “ _You’re not Dad’s?_   Who the fuck did she screw around with over twenty years ago?”

“Malcolm Merlyn.”  Oliver said grimly.  “And as of several weeks ago, he knows and I know that I’m his.  I only confronted Mom about it a couple days ago.”

Thea blinked.  Well that explained a lot.

“Who all knows?”

“Harry of course.”  The Brit gave Thea a wink from where he was making omelets at the stove.  “Malcolm, Mom, Walter, Tommy.  I don’t know if any of them have told anyone else.  And now you.”

“Wow.”  Thea sat back and sipped at her tea.  “Heavy stuff, Ollie.”  She frowned, a thought making itself know and showing on her pretty face.

“Your Dad is your Dad, Speedy.”  Oliver told her gently, cutting her fears down before they could fully be realized.  “I asked her and she told me that you were Da-Robert’s.”

“God, Oliver.”  She shook her head, running one hand through her hair.  “I don’t even know _what_ to say about all of this.”  Shaking her head again she set her mug aside and threw her arms back around him in a quick hug.  “But I don’t care.  You’re my brother, you’ve always been my brother.  And I love you.”

“Love you too, Speedy.”  Oliver whispered into her hair as he locked eyes with the gently-watching Harry.  “Love you too.”

In the wake of knowing that his mother – _his mother_ – had arranged his kidnapping and all that implied, Oliver was glad he had this – the love of his sister, the love of Harry and his newly found family – to ground him as the world trembled under his feet.

…

_Lian Yu, Harry’s Base, Late Spring/Early Summer 2008_

Clack, clack, clack, _bang_.

And Oliver was on the ground again.

Before he’d ever met Slade Wilson, he was sure Harry was the harshest taskmaster Oliver had ever met.

The Brit probably still was, but he had different methods and expectations than Slade, who preferred the diving-in-head-first method.  A method that had Oliver running for his life for hours every morning with Slade chasing him and smacking him on the back or shoulders if he caught him with a bamboo switch, or sparring him full-tilt with his pair of wooden bamboo sticks.  It was painful, and degrading, as he landed on his back or his side on the ground every-other minute, nursing minor cuts and tons of bruises every night.

Slade had a tongue on him that could cut Oliver to pieces, and wasn’t shy about deriding him as a weak idiot with a silver spoon stuck up his ass.

Harry was harsher but in a different way.

He didn’t cut Oliver any slack for being young, or an Omega, or a “naïve spoiled brat.”

Nope.

And while he didn’t belittle Oliver the way Slade did, his disappointment was almost worse when Oliver fumbled at repeating a move Harry showed him or failed to hit a target with the knives he was teaching him to throw.

Harry wasn’t merely focusing on immediate needs either the way Slade was, adding in things about how to hide in the trees, or track, or other skills that he’d need to know if the airstrip plan fails and he makes it out alive but still trapped on the island.

But with an aching body and the signs of his pre-heat making themselves known, Oliver wished he was _anywhere_ else but on Lian Yu with Slade and Harry beating their skills into his head.

A chuckle from the side conjured the form of his main tormentor, Harry appearing as if by magic as Slade laid him out once again.

“Yeah, yeah.  Very funny.”  Oliver muttered as he picked his sticks back up.  “I don’t see _you_ fighting Mr. Deathstroke-Agent-Man.”

Harry just cocked an eyebrow as Slade gave a derisive scoff saying: “As if that’d teach you anything other than how easy it is for me to kick Pommy’s ass.”

“Really?”  Harry drawled.  “You think you can take me down that easily do you?”

“Please.”  Slade snorted, eyeing Harry up with a leer.  “You’re good I’m sure, I can tell that much.  But you’re still just an Omega.  There’s no _way_ you can take down an Alpha with my training.”

Slade wasn’t even trying to be an asshole, just telling it like he saw it.  There were plenty of dangerous Omegas in ASIS or the Navy that he’d met in his time.  And more that he’d fought on the other side.  But he’d never met one that could take on him or Billy.  They just didn’t have the raw strength required for the job, better suited to infiltration or assassination over the brute force he possessed for extractions and heavy combat.

Rolling his shoulders, Harry plucked the bamboo staves out of Oliver’s hands, motioning the kid out of the way with a jerk of his head.

“I think you’ll find, Slade.”  He said dryly.  “That when it comes to me, there’s nothing _just_ an Omega can’t do.  Including knocking cocky-assed-knot-heads like you on their arses.”

“You’re on, sweet thing.”  Slade growled, smiling smugly.  “Let’s see what you got.”

The strikes that followed were so quick – and so hard – that Oliver felt a sense of awe and vague uselessness as he tried to follow, realizing that as tough as Slade had been on him, it’d been nowhere near as hard or fast as he could’ve gone.

And yet, Oliver thought as his face went slack in surprise, Harry matched him step for step neither of them landing a blow in the first minute or two where Oliver was usually down and out in the first couple hits.

Slade stepped back in surprise, brows lifting then lowering in concentration as he buckled down, not playing around any longer, when a rapid series of blows had him on straight defense, unable to do anything but block for several long moments and barely dodging a crack to his head.

“Christ!”  He half-shouted in jubilation.  “You’re a canny one you are, stronger than you look too.”

Harry just smirked and stepped it up, meeting Slade’s taller height and longer reach with an agility and ability to weave and dodge that the much larger man couldn’t match – though he was close.

A dirty trick of Harry’s in the form of a boot to the inside of Slade’s knee gave him the opening he needed, sending a massive double strike against the man’s abs, not wanting to really injure but to prove his point.

Had he hit him that hard and in the right spot, Harry could’ve killed him.  Use the right way it was a finishing blow.  And they both knew it even if it was lost on Oliver who was hooting softly and dancing a bit at the sight of Slade hunched over and wheezing.

Granted, neither of them was trying to _kill_ the other, and neither of sure how that would go in a single-combat situation their skills too equal to say without actual intent behind them.

Though, Harry knew, with his _extra_ that he had to bring to bear…there really was no contest despite what anyone else would think.

“Score one for Team Omega, yes!”  Oliver punched a fist in the air, hopping lightly on his toes.  “Take that Slade!”

“Alrigh’ kid, alrigh’.”  Slade said as he clapped his hands against his thighs and rose.  “Calm down or I’ll take it outta your backside.  Let’s get back at it.”

With a wiggle of his fingers in a mocking goodbye to Slade, Harry tossed his sticks back to Oliver who managed to pluck them out of the air.

Good.

The brat was learning something after all.

…

_Starling City, Foundry Base, October 24, 2012_

“James Holder.”  Oliver spoke to Harry as he put on his leather suit and green hood.  “Company manufactures defective fire detectors and smoke alarms responsible for millions in damages and dozens of deaths and injuries but no one has managed to pin anything on him.”

“Robert’s list has been dead-on so far.”  Harry commented as he flipped through the water-damaged notebook, dressed for a day at the construction site in boots, jeans, and a cotton work-shirt.  “Good luck, lover.”

A kiss later and Oliver was ducking out of the hidden entrance that led into the twilight alley and climbing onto one of two Ducati motorcycles concealed in the garage next door.

Between the two of them, they’d purchased the rest of the buildings immediately surrounding the old foundry, already having crews at work renovating them for restaurants, cafes, a parking garage, and several apartment complexes – though no one knew who was behind the sudden growth as they’d hidden the transactions well, except for the one next door that Harry had purchased publicly to convert into a garage with a small café in the front.  That building was where they stashed the two bikes, in a hidden section that wasn’t anywhere on the new blueprints.

Pulling away from the foundry with a grim smile, Oliver prepared to face the next name on the list.

…

To say Harry was _bloody hacked off_ would be an understatement.

First, Oliver stumbles back into the base, Harry going to investigate as he was “working” in the roughed-in office on the first floor, only for his lover to report that someone else – a gunman – had shot Holder before he’d gotten more than a few words out.

Then, _then_ , before Oliver could even finish his story, he damn-near collapsed in his arms, Harry having to rush and treat the poisoned wound and take a sample.

Which he was currently working on figuring out, hoping that knowing what the poison was might give him a lead to track the shooter as Oliver laid out unconscious on the cold metal table, Harry having stripped him and redressed him once he was out of danger and tucked him up with the blankets and pillows they keep down there for emergencies – or late night sessions where they crash afterwards rather than go back to the loft.

At least Oliver had managed to recover the bullet – with his blood – from the scene and cleaned it up.

The last thing they needed was one of their DNA’s to turn up at a murder scene, Lance was already suspicious enough.

And it gave Harry more to work with on tracking the shooter.

Hours later, Harry was hunched over the computer screen cussing up a storm and tempted to but in a call to Anatoli when weak – but steady – arms wrapped around him from behind, Oliver leaning weakly into his back.

Turning his head, Harry accepted the soft kiss with a sigh of relief, burrowing his face into Oliver’s chest a moment before telling him what he found out.

“The poison’s curare.”  He reported, turning and tugging the other man into his lap and holding him tight, as if afraid if he let go Oliver would disappear.  “That and the caliber traces back to a player codenamed Deadshot according to Interpol.”  He slumped into his lover, head resting on his chest.  “And that’s where the trail goes cold.  We _really_ need some help with this end of things.”

“I’m thinking about talking to my father and brother, maybe.”  Oliver admitted.  “You’re right, we need help as much as I want to do this on our own.  I wish…”

“Yeah.”  Harry agreed with the unspoken sentiment, feeling that empty spot inside him twang harshly.  “Me too, love.  Me too.”

…

_Lian Yu, Slade’s Base, Early Summer_

“How’s the kid?”  Slade asked as Harry stepped out of the jungle surrounding the crash site.

Oliver had gone into heat as predicted, Slade returning back to his plane shell to wait it out since he couldn’t be anywhere near the young Omega without the kid’s heat sending him into rut.

“Better.”  Harry replied, titling his head as he watched Slade practice with his twin swords, muscles rippling and steel flashing.  He made one hell of a sight, and looked damn _fine_ to Harry’s suppressed hormones.  But looking was all he’d do.  The last thing he wanted a week away from their escape attempt was to screw around with his tentative partner.  He trusted Slade…to an extent.

That extent did not extend so far as to want him in Harry’s bed.

So _looking_ was all it would be.

“He’ll be ready in time?”

“Ready is a matter of perspective.”  Harry said dryly, stepping up with his sword in hand to spar.  Not Gryffindor’s sword but another similar to it.  He wanted a work out, not to poison the other man.  “But he won’t be in heat or _completely_ useless.”

Slade gave an agreeing snort.

The kid wasn’t that bad.  A fighter for sure, spoiled yank had a lot of fight in him.  But he was leagues away from being in either Slade or Harry’s class.

Had potential though.

Too bad as soon as they were away the kid would be back to college, parties, and sipping champagne.

He’d have made one hell of an operative.

“Green as grass, the kid.”  Slade agreed as they started to spar.  “But yeah, not wholly useless after all, even if he’s no Yao Fei.”

…

_Starling City, The Foundry Base, October 27, 2012_

“Well,” Harry chuckled wryly as he and Oliver hauled the wounded and bleeding form of Diggle down into their base.  “That went swimmingly I thought.  At least when you look at it on a scale from Airstrip Plan to Anthony-cunt-Ivo anyway.”

Oliver growled low in his throat at the implicit reprimand in Harry’s words as both of those clusterfucks were caused – at least in part – by him.

Which was once again the case.

“I wasn’t going to leave Dig to die, Harry.”  Oliver snapped.

“I know love,” Harry sighed.  “I know.  You’re loyal in the extreme to those who’ve earned it.  Believe me.  I know.”

They’d spent a frantic couple of days trying to get ahead of Deadshot, even tapping their Bratva contacts in Starling who came through for them, leading Oliver to find a bullet-ridden laptop which in turn he’d handed over to a Queen Consolidated IT worker that Walter recommended named Felicity Smoak.  She’d managed to retrieve blueprints for an auction house.  And that was where things had started to go wrong.

Oliver and Tommy with Laurel, Harry, and Diggle, had all ended up getting into a bar fight at a club called “Poison” owned by someone who was engaged to one of Oliver’s high school girlfriends.

Diggle took them to cool off and recover at a Big Belly Burger that turned out to be managed by his sister-in-law Carly, which turned into him confiding in Harry and Oliver that it was his fault – somehow – that his brother was dead and Carly a widow.

Then Oliver was enlisting Lance – rather forcibly – into helping them take down Deadshot, telling the suspicious Lieutenant everything they knew about Deadshot, his targets, and his methods.

As prepared as they could be, they headed out to the auction, where it turned out Walter was the next on Lawton’s list only to be pushed out of the way by Lance.

Harry stayed in plain sight while Oliver haunted the rooftops as the vigilante to further muddy the waters of the ongoing investigation against him, while Oliver and Diggle who’d been warned about the potential shooting and was tailing Walter for the day went after Lawton.

One fight later and an arrow through Lawton’s eyepiece – and _that_ brought back a whole slew of shitty memories for them both – and a bullet in Dig and there they were, about to reveal themselves to Diggle under duress in order to cure the poisoning.

They got him on the table, Harry digging out the bullet while Oliver mixed up some of Yao Fei’s “magical herbs of healing”, Oliver putting aside his mask and lowering his hood.  First dribbling some of the concoction into the wound, Oliver fed it to an unconscious Dig as Harry set about finishing with the cleaning and stitching up of his lover’s favorite bodyguard.  Even if the observant shit made their lives a wee bit harder than they needed to be.

Blinking, Dig turned his head right and left, at first thinking what he was seeing was a hallucination brought on by the poison.  Sitting up, and shaking his head, it hit him: what he was seeing was no mirage.  Swinging out at the “Hood” on his left, he swore as the guy in green leather caught his punch.

“Easy, Dig.”  Harry said, stepping closer, still dressed in his fine suit.  “You’re safe.”

“Safe?”  He laughed bitterly, turning to face the figure of the “Hood” otherwise known as Oliver Queen.  “Your boytoy and my _client_ is a damn criminal!  A murderer!”

“Maybe.”  Oliver agreed with a tight jaw, folding his arms over his chest.  “But I’m a criminal and murderer who just saved your life from Lawton’s poisoned bullets.”

“And you?”  Dig asked Harry accusingly, spinning to sit with his legs over the table and jumping to his feet, wobbling a bit as he steadied himself with one hand on the slab.  He spotted the grey – weird – leather uniform hanging on a mannequin.  “I guess you’re the other half of the Hood, huh, Harry?”  He snorted in disgust.  “I at least thought you were my friend, even if Queen was kinda a pain in the ass to guard.  If I only knew…”

“We are your friends, Dig.”  Oliver said, wincing a little at the pain-in-the-ass comment.  “And we’d like your help.  You’re a soldier, worked for A.R.G.U.S. from what we could find out.  You’re exactly what we need to clean up Starling City.”

“Clean it up by drowning the streets in blood?”  Dig snorted, shaking his head.  “No, man.  I don’t think so.  You keep so many secrets, hide so much of yourselves, I don’t even know what was real of these last couple weeks.  I’m out.”  Turning and heading for the stairs, he paused a moment looking back at the dismayed pair.  “You know, it’s an old saying but I think it applies: if you stare too deep into the darkness, the darkness starts to stare back.  Maybe you two should take a long hard look at what you’ve become in your quest to hunt the monsters in the night.  What this mission of yours is turning you into.”

…

_Lian Yu, Airstrip Watchtower, Early Summer 2008_

Oliver stared at the phone, ignoring the dead body laying helplessly on the floor.

It wasn’t the first man he’d killed since being shipwrecked, or even the first of Fyers’ mercenaries.  No, that had been the guy he stabbed to death before stealing his uniform.  That first time had nearly sent him into shock once he’d processed it but it’d gotten lost in the horrors of his torturer who he now knew was Slade’s former partner Billy Wintergreen, the second half of Team 7: Deathstroke.  It still haunted his dreams though.

Something told him it always would, even if it ebbed and flowed, that first kill would always come back.

Harry said it was normal when they talked about it one day while Slade was off doing…whatever it was Slade does.  Scouting or hunting.  Or simply getting away from the pair of Omegas who got on his nerves just in different ways.

Everything in him shouted for him to use that damned phone to call home.

Call his Mom.

Call Tommy.

Hell.

Call _anybody_.

But he wasn’t free yet.

And he wasn’t going to risk innocent lives of an unprepared rescue party going up against Fyers’ assholes in case this whole thing failed.

Two pairs of footsteps coming up the watchtower stairs killed the last remaining urges to give in.

“Damn kid.”  Slade said with a pleased smirk when he saw the body.  “Didn’t think you had it in you.”

“Wasn’t the first man I killed here.”  Oliver said tonelessly, picking up the phone receiver and offering it to an intrigued Slade who’d arched a brow at his deadpan response, Harry content with searching Oliver’s face and body for signs of distress before giving a small nod and leaning back against the tower control panel.

A couple of slightly-frantic minutes later after Oliver saved their asses with a damn quote from the Odyssey and Harry was ready to bang both their stubborn heads together.

“Seriously, kid?”  Slade demanded, completely exasperated.  “You barely know the man _and_ he’s sold you out once already despite saving your peachy ass later.  I’m calling in the damn air strike.”

“Your mission…”

“Mission was scrubbed the second Billy turned on me.”  Slade snarled back.  “Better for everyone if we light this damn island up.”

“Fine, whatever.”  Oliver threw his hands in the air as he looted the gun off of the body at his feet and stormed out of the tower.  “ _I’m_ going after Yao Fei.  He saved my life, I have to try.”

“Go on then.”  Slade shouted at his back.  “But the plane outta here won’t wait on you.”  He lowered his voice, muttering more to himself than to the watching Harry.  “Damned kid is going to get himself fucking killed.”

“So you going to leave him to die?”  Harry cocked a brow, already knowing the answer having taken a good hard measure of Slade Wilson over the last month or so, turning and moving towards the camp.

“Fucking no, I’m not.”  Slade cursed the air blue, striding into the forest after the smoothly loping form of Harry who was moving in a path to flank the camp ahead rather than storming straight in like the damned too-noble-for-his-own-good kid.  “But it needed to be said: this is going to get us _all_ fucking killed.  And I’m going to say I told you so when we’re sipping Mai Tai’s in hell.”

Shit, after living on Purgatory, hell would be a pleasant vacation.

…

_Starling City, The Queen Mansion, October 28, 2012_

Against his better judgement, Oliver had agreed to come see his mother at the Queen Mansion the morning after outing himself and Harry to Dig.

Entering the living room with its massive tv that was turned to the morning news, he found his mother and a meathead jammed into a suit, the headline of the Declan murder catching his eye as he saw a name he recognized: Brodeur.

“Ah, there you are Oliver.”  Moira turned to her son, a brittle smile on her face.  “I’m afraid Mr. Diggle resigned, something about not liking your ‘evening activities’.  This is Rob, your new bodyguard.”

“No.”  Oliver said firmly, then looking at Rob.  “Rob, is it?  With whom did you sign a contract.”

“Queen Consolidated, Mr. Queen.”

“Then I’m sorry but: you’re fired.”  Arching a brow at Moira he continued.  “As my mother likely failed to inform you, of the two of us I have the larger share of the company.  In other words: I’m your boss above her and I don’t need you.  Follow my mother or my sister around if you must, or take a severance package.  Either way, I’m not having another bodyguard other than Dig.”

“Oliver, be reasonable…”

“I have been reasonable, Mother.”  Oliver snapped, before pinching his nose between his thumb and forefinger.  “In case you’ve forgotten, I am in the middle of starting a business and trying to sort out who I am now.  But you and I are nowhere _near_ okay, and I feel no need to pander to your issues.”  Spinning on his heel he nodded once at the bodyguard with a stiff: “Rob.”  And strode from the house, peeling out of the tarmac drive and down towards the Merlyn Mansion where his father and brother were waiting with Harry for a “family” breakfast and discussion of the soon-to-come Not-A-Queen revelation.

All the while, a name from the list tingled at the back of his mind.

Brodeur.

…

_Australia, ASIS Headquarters, October 31, 2012_

An operative, back from two weeks leave tracking a personal target, strode into his handler’s office in the upper levels of ASIS’s main HQ.

“I’m out.”  A gruff voice announced with a hefty tinge of Alpha growl and grit.

“Okay…”  The suited man drawled, lowering his feet that had been propped on his desk.  “Standard retirement package for a Team operative, scrubbed identity but we’ll keep an eye out for hits, anywhere in particular you want for your promised tropical paradise after cleaning up that mess in China, I’m afraid we’re fresh out of virgins…?”

“Starling City, US of A.”

…

_Starling City Police Department Interrogation Room, November 2, 2012_

And things had been looking up.

Tilting his chair back, Harry stared up at the flicker florescent lights.

They’d gotten a confession from Brodeur, saved an innocent man from death row, and Dig had come back into the fold.

Even if it was only to keep Harry and Oliver from becoming the same kind of monsters they were hunting.

Hell.

Oliver even got to save the girl.

Then the next afternoon Lance showed up at the press conference held by Malcolm at Merlyn Global to announce Oliver’s parentage and took Harry and Oliver in for “questioning.”

The thing was, Harry honestly had no idea what Lance thought he had on them other than enough suspicion and grudges (against Oliver at least) to fill the Mariana Trench.

Still, by doing it in front of Malcolm he’d made a mistake, papa Alpha telling them not to say a word until their lawyers – Merlyn lawyers – got to the station.

“You know.”  Harry commented as the door creaked open and Lance and a suit who with one glance Harry could tell was a barracuda in Prada and Chanel from her diamond studs to her stilettos walked in.  “I don’t think I’ve ever been on this side of the table before.”

“Well, get used to it, Black.”  Lance snarled.  “We’ve got a lot to cover.”

“Need I remind you, Lieutenant?”  The lawyer snapped.  “That Mr. Black is only here under suspicion of – something you’ve yet to relay – and has no obligation to answer any of your questions at all.  One remark I don’t like and we’re done, am I clear?”

“Crystal.”  Lance said from between grating teeth.  They’d already done this dance once with Queen and had scored a goose egg, the irritating little shit released and waiting in the bullpen with Laurel of all fucking lawyers for his bond-mate’s release.  His captain was breathing _fire_ over Lance bringing the two of them in.

Especially when Ms. Prada and Diamonds had waved Black’s service record under their noses.

Bringing in a Victoria Cross recipient without cause was a political disaster.

If Lance didn’t find _something_ to pin on the guy who’d received the equivalent of the Medal of Honor, he was _fucked_ forwards back and sideways.

…

Two hours later and several rounds of questions, Oliver and Harry left a fuming police lieutenant and his breathing-fire captain behind after thanking Laurel and Harry’s attorney Ms. Langley, Malcolm and Tommy picking them up in one of Malcolm’s fleet of limos.

“So…”  Tommy drawled.  “What was Lance on about?”

“Apparently we’re the vigilantes either both or just one of us.”  Harry said dryly.

“At the moment I think Lance should be more worried about his continued employment and not holding onto grudges.”  Malcolm said softly, his tone dangerous.

Harry and Oliver shared a glance, knowing that they were likely on the same wavelength.

Reaching up, Oliver pressed the intercom button and spoke: “Take us to the club, please.”

“Mr. Merlyn?”

“Do as he says, Douglas.”  Malcolm ordered.  “Then have the cars delivered there.  My sons and I are going to inspect the progress on the finish work.”

Taking his cue from the others, Tommy filled in the light chatter as the chauffer followed his dad and little – if only by a few months – orders, Harry and the others playing along until they were dropped off at the club.  Talking loudly, Oliver showed off the progress to his father, finally making their way into Harry’s office, where the black-haired Omega reached over and pressed a button on the underside of his desk, waiting for a series of coded beeps before nodding at his lover.

“We’re clear.”  He said, Malcolm arching a brow as he watched, Tommy looking on with dissipating confusion.  “If anyone planted anything all they’re getting is white noise.”

“Excellent.”  Oliver walked over to a bookcase and hit a switch, making it pull out from the wall.  “Tommy, Malcolm, there’s something we need to talk about…”

Leading the way, Oliver turned and sauntered down the hidden stairs, Harry waving the others on and securing the door after them bringing up the rear.

“Oliver, Harry, that you?”  Dig called out having heard the steps.  “I figured you’d show up after they released you.  Nice first day back for me, my client gets brought in for questioning…oh.”  He came to a stop when he spotted their company.  “Mr. Merlyn and Mr. Merlyn.”

“Diggle.”  “Dig.”  The two nodded, eyes tracking all over the headquarters, one pair significantly calmer than the other.

“Tommy, Malcolm.”  Oliver said, hopping up to sit on the table and snagging the notebook to come clean.  “I think what we need to tell you is rather obvious now…”

“You guys are, you really, really are the vigilantes.”  Tommy spluttered.  “You’re…killers…”

“Criminals.”  Harry told him.  “Bottom-feeders and murderers who’ve done nothing but suck the life out of Starling City and drag it down.  They’re hardly a loss.”

“Harry.”  Dig stared him down in censure, the other man rolling his eyes and going over to strip down into workout gear.  He needed to hit something.

“I wasn’t the only one who made it off the Gambit.”  Oliver began slowly, holding out the notebook already open to the list to his father.  “You know about Sara getting picked up by a ship.  But that wasn’t all of it.  Robert and a crewman survived in a life raft, they saved my life.  The next day, Robert told me that he wasn’t the man I thought, that he’d failed the city.  He shot the crewman, gave me the notebook, asked me to right his wrongs, and committed suicide.”  He blinked back the surge of emotion that still tried to take him over even five years later.

“He saved your life, Oliver.”  Malcolm said, reaching out and giving him a side-hug as he flipped through the book.  “Any father – blood or not – would do the same.”

“After the island,” Oliver continued, watching his father and brother as they prowled around the basement headquarters, Tommy seeming to split his attention between watching Harry with a stave against a dummy, investigating the uniforms, and Oliver; while Malcolm was focusing on Oliver, the notebook, and the weapons.  “I looked into the names on the list.  All of them were corrupt, rotten to the core, and to a man completely unrepentant and untouchable by the police.”

“So you decided to use the skills you gained on the island or in Harry’s case before.”  Malcolm summed up, setting the notebook aside.  Oliver had nothing Malcolm needed to worry over, only whether he’d stumble on his now-delayed plans.  Or being told by Moira herself who was turning into a dangerous liability.  “To do what the police can’t?”

“That’s the gist of it.”  Oliver shrugged, ducking around a corner to change himself, going topless as always and showing the scars and marks of his trials.  Coming back out he stood with his arms open wide, showing them freely.  “You don’t escape a place like that untouched.  It leave’s a mark.”

“Jesus, Ollie.”  Tommy breathed, making an aborted step forward, eyes shocked.  “What happened to you?”

“Purgatory.”  Harry answered, coming into the bright lights, a thin tank revealing his own marked up arms and shoulders but hiding the bulk of his damage.  “It holds up to the label.”

“And our Mr. Diggle?”  Malcolm arched a brow, plan after scheme after idea rolling around in his mind.  “How did you come to be involved?”

“The _Hood_ ,” Dig rolled his eyes at the name.  “Saved me when an assassin named Deadshot who was after Walter among others winged me with a poisoned bullet.”

“Took him a bit to come around.”  Harry gave the soldier a cheesy grin.  “But he did in the end.”

“This is…” Tommy blew out a breath.  “Huge guys.  I don’t know what to think or feel about all of this.”

“We’re trusting you, Tommy.”  Oliver told him simply.  “With a secret that could potentially either save or cost lives, including ours.  Because you’re my brother, and my best-friend, and you should know.  If our identities are ever revealed – seriously and not just suspicion – then everyone we care about could become a target.”

“That’s why the masks.”  Harry added, tapping his with a finger.  “And the outfits, anything that could draw a link between the vigilantes and us is carefully monitored.  Which is why Oliver is going to _stop_ using Laurel and her father for cases.”  He told his lover with a firm scolding glance.  “It’s too obvious love.  If I have to give up wearing leather and riding motorcycles, you need to stop using the Lances as a crutch.”

Oliver ducked his head, scuffling his feet a bit at the reprimand.

“Mr. Diggle.”  Malcolm spoke.  “Would you mind giving me a few minutes with my sons?  The cars should be here soon, if you’d get the keys, maybe order some food in for a meeting?”

Dig smirked knowingly at the suddenly nervous vigilantes.

“No problem, Mr. Merlyn.”

“Please, Dig.”  Malcolm told him good-naturedly.  “Considering what binds us now I believe Malcolm would be more appropriate when you’re not playing bodyguard for my _reckless_ youngest son.”  He shot a look at Oliver, clearly both agreeing with Harry’s statement about the Lances and including him in his “sons.”

Whistling lightly, Dig jogged up the steps, using the view screen that the contractors had installed like the white-noise button/device, before cautiously entering the office and calling out for delivery from the closest spot that would come to the Glades which was a Thai place, feeling rather happy that his “boss” and friend was about to get reamed by his pops.

It was turning out to not be such a bad day back at work after all.

…

_Lian Yu, Slade’s Base, Summer, 2008_

Slade coughed as he felt the infection starting to set in.

The kid hadn’t done a bad job of helping him dig out the bullet from his arm and clean and sew up the hole, but he could tell from the red streaks and the pus that if something doesn’t give soon then this island will kill him yet.

Oliver reentered the shell of the plane, bringing fresh water both to clean the wound and for Slade to drink since the Alpha wasn’t up to doing much more the last couple days other than lay down in a miserable, fevered haze.

“Thanks, kid.”  Slade told him, lucid at the moment.  “But I don’t think water’s going to do much good at the moment and I’m not exactly up to raiding one of Fyers’ camps for antibiotics.”

Damn islands and their diseases.  Man could catch any number of bugs just by existing.  Let alone being shot.

“There’s no sign of Harry.”  Oliver nibbled on his lip.  “It’s been days, Slade, you don’t think…?”

“Naw kid.”  Slade shook his head weakly.  “He might’ve bugged out to his bunker after we were separated at the camp but I doubt he left us here.  He’ll turn up if Fyers doesn’t have him.”

Whether it would be in time to save Slade’s cranky ass was the question.

“Like he has Yao Fei?”  Oliver asked bitterly.  “I still don’t get what Fyers has on him.”

“Me either.”  Slade shrugged one shoulder.  “But at least with Billy out of the picture that’s one less threat to deal with, and we did a pretty good job of culling Fyers’ men between me and Harry when we pulled your ass out of the sling.”

Oliver shivered, rubbing his arms in the sweltering heat even as he remembered just how close he came to dying on Wintergreen’s sword.  Reaching up he fingered the uppermost scar Deathstroke had left on him, tracing it up to the arrow wound on his collar bone.

“Yao Fei.”  Oliver said, an idea shaking loose as he traced the scar the Chinese man had given him.  “He shot me, remember?”

“I remember being told about that a time or you, yeah?”  Slade said, laying back after tiring himself out getting a drink and rewrapping his wound, staring up blankly at the holey roof.  “What of it?”

“I almost died of infection.”  Oliver said, his excited tone not matching his statement.

“Congratulations.”

“No, that’s not it.”  The teen batted away Slade’s sarcastic comment.  “I almost died but Yao Fei had these…magical healing herbs or something that he used to fix me.  I bet they’re still in his cave.”

Slade propped himself up on his good side, eyeing the kid as he swayed in place.

“You mean to tell me you want to go hopping along to Yao Fei’s place to get some Chinese hoodoo that you don’t even know for sure is there?”  He arched a dark brow.  “I hate to break it to you kid, but I can barely make it to the treeline to piss and shit let alone to the other side of this poxy island while dodging bloody mercs and the local wildlife.  It’s a day’s round-trip, and that’s at a good clip not shuffling along and resting every five minutes.  Pipedream kid.”

With a thump Slade collapsed back down, his arm giving out on him as if to validate his statement.

Oliver set his mouth mulishly.

“Then I’ll go alone.”  He stated resolutely as he began grabbing a few things to take with him, including one of the guns they’d scavenged from the camp.  “I’ve learned enough to find Yao Fei’s place from here.”

“You’ll get yourself killed kid.”

“I’m not going to let you die, Slade.”  Oliver stated gruffly.  “Not if I can help it.”

“Noble damn pup.”  Slade snorted.  “I keep tellin’ you: everyone’s only out for themselves in this world.”

“And I keep telling you: not everyone in the world is like that.”

…

_Starling City, Foundry Base, Same Night_

Four men stared down at the innocuous recorder as Rebecca Merlyn’s final moment finished playing.

Tommy melted into a chair, teary-eyed and barely holding himself together in the face of this new blow on top of everything else they’d heard that night.

“They just…let her die?”  He asked brokenly.  “Just, watched as she bled out on the street?”

“Yes.”  Malcolm replied, face stony.  “They did.  In the wake of that I came to a devastating truth: that the Glades were completely corrupt and the city needed to change utterly to prevent there being another Rebecca.”

“You left.”  Oliver murmured, remembering the years Tommy lived at the Queen Mansion.  “Where did you go?”

“Nanda Parbat.”  Malcolm told them.  “A place where an ancient order lives to teach those in search of justice in a corrupt world the strength and skills they need to find it for themselves.  I lived and trained and did terrible things but in the end I was remade and released to fulfill my purpose: rooting out and destroying the corruption that was killing this city one innocent life at a time.”

“The League doesn’t normally release its members.”  Harry said, face unreadable as three pairs of eyes shot towards him in either question or in Malcolm’s case interest.  “You must have impressed Ra’s greatly.”

“League?”  Oliver asked, head cocked to one side as his eyes shot between his lover and his father.

“The order.”  Malcolm supplied.  “Is called the League of Assassins.  Most who’ve heard of them consider them a bedtime tale but they’re very real and very dangerous.”

“I think the name says it all.”  Harry added dryly.  “What it says on the tin is shockingly apt.”

“You’re an assassin, Dad?”  Tommy choked out.  “And my brother and brother-in-law are vigilantes, oh and apparently the brother-in-law somehow _knows_ about the super-shady-deadly-guild that trained my dad.  What’s next, is Thea secretly a Russian spy?”

“No.”  Harry cocked a grin.  “But I could probably could introduce you to one or two if you’re interested.”

“Pass, thanks.”  Tommy gave a lost laugh, completely boggled.  “Maybe next year.”

“You don’t have to do or think anything about all this Tommy.”  Malcolm told his oldest son understandingly.  “None of us are trying to recruit you into the ‘cause’ as it were.  But it might be a good idea if we start teaching you some self-defense…just in case.”

“Sure.”  Tommy rolled his eyes exaggeratedly.  “Why not.  You never know when an assassin or a vigilante might turn up.  Oh wait…”

Harry lost it, breaking down into snickers before turning and going back to working out, leaving the Merlyn men to continue their discussion as he kept an ear open.

“This list.”  Malcolm asked, devious mind settling onto an idea.  “You’ve researched every name?”

“As we can.”  Oliver told him.  “We research, track, and then try and come up with a solution that fits whatever their crimes are.”

“Do you have another picked?”

Oliver tapped a name.  “Leo Mueller.  Diggle found out that he’s selling guns to gangs in the Glades, the next buy is happening soon.  But with all the attention…”

“It’s not a good time for either of you to be out of public view while the vigilante takes down a thug.”  Malcolm nodded, smiling slightly.  “I think I have a solution to that problem.”

“If you’re as good as Harry seems to think this League is.”  Oliver shared his father’s grin as Tommy went to help Diggle with the carry out as the man called down the stairs.  “I have a feeling we’re thinking of the same solution.”

…

_Lian Yu, Slade’s Base, Summer 2008_

Slade lifted his head at a sound he was sure he wouldn’t hear again before this poxy infection did away with him: the gangling tromping of the kid.

It was impossible to tell in his feverish state how long he’d been gone, but if he was coming back either he’d given up (which he doubted the kid could teach a mule lessons in bullheadedness) or he’d found what he’d been looking for and Slade might live to kick his ass some more.

“Heaven in a wildflower.”  Oliver said as he marched into the plane shell, already toting fresh water to brew the herbal concoction.  “Or an herb in this case.  I’ll have you back on your feet in no time.”

“Blake, _Auguries of Innocence_.”  Slade commented on the line from the poem that was made popular by a movie.  “Even I know that one, kid.  You keep surprising me like this and we’ll make it off this damn hell-hole yet.”

“Don’t thank me yet.”  Oliver warned him as he heated the water and made the tea and paste for the wound as Yao Fei and Harry had taught him.  “This smells like death and tastes worse.  But it should work.”

“Can’t be worse than some of the local fare I’ve eaten in the places I’ve been with ASIS.”  Slade said around a cough.  “It’ll be fine: so long as it works.”

…

A week later had Slade back on his feet, mostly recovered, and starting back on making a new plan and training Oliver.

It was during one of those sessions they had another surprise come walking up to the crash site: Harry with a pair of Chinese shadows following in his wake.


	5. Four: Coup de Grace

** Al Darbat Qatila **

**Chapter Four: _Coup de Grâce_**

_Starling City, Foundry Base, November 13, 2012_

Tommy grunted as he fended off an attack from Oliver, the two brothers sparring as Diggle and Harry did the same, Malcolm observing both and offering suggestions and corrections as needed – mostly to Tommy but also giving advice to the trained fighters in the room, all of whom respected his abilities after watching him take down Oliver and fight Harry to a draw.

Their ruse of Malcolm playing vigilante against Mueller had worked a treat, netting another dead scumbag and a handful of gangbangers that were in custody, all of whom testified to having seen the “Hood” take them down and kill Mueller while Harry and Oliver were in the middle of their “Jail-Bird Party” at their loft.

Lance had been read the riot act and had been keeping a low profile since, though Harry had stopped back by the precinct to discuss the Triad situation again, this time with the taskforce who were assigned to the Chinese gang.

Suspicion lifted – for the moment – and the opening of the club coming ever closer, the Merlyn clan had worked on training and working as a smooth unit, though Tommy still had his doubts about the whole thing he was ecstatic to have reconnected with his father and the others on a new, deeper level.

At the moment though he had something else entirely on his mind.

“I don’t get it man.”  Tommy said as he blocked another blow.  “Laurel just won’t take me seriously.”

“That whole on-again-off-again pattern the two of you have done for years probably isn’t helping the situation.”  Malcolm observed dryly as he corrected his elder son’s stance before having them go again.

“Thanks, Dad.”  Tommy rolled his eyes.  “Very helpful.”

“You really sure about this, mate?”  Harry called out from across the room.  “Getting together with Laurel?  You realize she and her father are rather opposed to the new ‘family business’ we have going on.”

“She’s it for me, I swear.”  Tommy shot back earnestly.

“Then try and show interest in the things she’s into, in what’s important to her.”  Oliver suggested.  “Look at me and Harry: this mission was all on me.  But Harry is here and out there every day having my back.  Why?  Because he loves me and he knows it’s important to me.  Given his choice we would’ve settled into a life of leisure…though I’m pretty sure both of us would’ve been bored in days and gone looking for trouble.”

“Too right.”  Harry laughed.  “Or trouble would’ve found your baby brother, like bees and honey with trouble, this one I swear.  But he’s right: a resort on the Caribbean with Mai Tai’s would’ve been my vote.”

“Did you get enough of islands on Lian Yu?”  Diggle asked with a laugh before groaning as Harry swept his feet out from under him.

“You’d think.”  Harry agreed with a shrug, resting his hands on his hips after darting out of the way of Dig’s retaliating kick.  “But that wasn’t _exactly_ a vacation.  Or all that nice.  White sand beaches, cabanas, and well-built pool boys are more my speed.”

“That’s your advice?”  Tommy asked thoughtfully.  “Support what she’s into?”

“Couldn’t hurt.”  Oliver told him with a shrug as Harry and Dig fell into playful banter.

“Hmm…”

…

_Lian Yu, Slade’s Base, Summer, 2008_

“Who the hell is she?”  Slade asked irately as Harry and Yao Fei strolled to a stop with their companion just out of arm’s reach of the volatile Australian.

“Slade Wilson, Oliver Queen, meet Yao Shado, also known as Fyers’ leverage over Yao Fei.”  Harry answered, his weariness plain in his voice.  “I ran into her tied up in Fyers’ camp after we got separated.  Helped her get free, then spent the last week figuring out a rescue for Fei since with her safe he’d come along.”

“He knocked me _out_.”  Shado said with a scowl.  “And left me locked in a cell while he went for Baba _alone_.”

“I don’t know you.”  Harry said for what felt like the thousandth time.  “What’s more: I don’t trust you.  So if you’re after an apology you’re shit out of luck, sweetheart.”

Yao Fei scolded both of them in Mandarin, Shado huffing and Harry rolling his eyes, brushing past Slade and Oliver and heading for the plane for some rack time before he gave into his urges and knocked Shado back out.

Which would do nothing but piss off Fei.

Still.

It was almost worth it for some peace and damn _quiet_.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Slade turned to Yao Fei with a smirk and said: “Even money says Mr. Anti-Social takes off for weeks after he’s rested up.”

“No takers.”  Yao Fei shook his head.  “Idiot bet.  Be surprised if he’s gone less than a month.”

“ _I can hear you, wankers!”_

…

To nobody’s surprise, Slade was right, the rest of them waking up to find Harry and his pack gone in the morning not to return for a solid month.

Though little did they know it was due to needing to go off his suppressors and have a heat before returning to balance out his system which he tried to do twice a year.

And there was no way in _hell_ he wanted anyone else around to witness it.

With Yao Fei’s cave – at least the general area – compromised and Fyers crippled temporarily, they set up shop at Slade’s crash site, everyone pitching in to make things as easy as they could be under the circumstances.

Yao Fei and Slade started training Oliver again, Shado helping with the archery since Slade who was as paranoid as Harry could be at times didn’t trust her to scout or hunt alone insisting she stay with either him or her father, a situation Harry was glad to see when he turned back up with fresh intel on the camps.

After losing his leverage and his prisoner, Fyers had consolidated down to two camps, one by the airfield and another on the opposite side of the island near Yao Fei’s old stomping grounds.

Which made traveling between Harry’s base and Slade’s a bitch for anyone but Harry to manage, gaining him a bit of solitude when he needed it away from the others.  Oliver had been off the suppressors for over a year, but Harry wanted to wait until Fall to start him back up, not wanting to have to deal with either of them going on heat during the winter when having to split their group could be disastrous – if they don’t get off the island before that.  But the crash site was too open for Harry’s taste, especially knowing what winters there could be like, sending him in search of an alternative that wasn’t a giant metal box in the middle of a lake that would have them freezing no matter what they did.

So while the others trained Oliver and planned, Harry took wing in secret, hunting for the perfect spot to weather the winter – if needed.

…

_Starling City, Big Belly Burger, November 15, 2012_

Oliver and Harry had crossed another name off the list the night before, and they were out celebrating at Carly’s work with Dig when the former soldier snagged a newspaper from the counter.

“You given any thought to dealing with _things_ besides those on your list?”  He asked idly.

They were all dressed down and as inconspicuous as a city’s favorite son could be, but Oliver still stuck out, hence the coded question.

“Not really.”  Oliver shook his head.  “Just trying to lay Robert to rest.”

Dig tapped the headline with one finger: _Bank Robbery Claims Casualty: Off-Duty Cop in Critical Condition!_

“Sure about that?  There’s a lot of good to be done aside from the list.”

Harry picked up the paper and read it through as Carly brought over their burgers with fries and shakes, smiling brightly at the trio that was becoming a staple, with and without others joining them.

“Street crime isn’t really my thing, Dig.”  Oliver told him firmly.  “That’s a job for the police.”

Dig arched a brow as he salted his fries.  “If you say so, Oliver.  But I think you, _this_ , could be more than that.”

…

“A benefit?”  Oliver asked as he jogged up the steps to Starling General Hospital, where Dig told him his next name was in the ICU.  “For CNRI?  At the club?  Tommy we haven’t even named it yet for one, or gotten the final inspection and occupancy permits for two.  And third we weren’t planning on doing any dry runs before the grand opening for several more weeks.”

“I know, I know.”  Tommy’s voice was close to a moan as it came through Oliver’s phone.  “But this is important to Laurel, they’ve lost their biggest donor.  And you guys said…”

“Support her causes, yeah.”  Oliver sighed, catching sight of Diggle.  “Look, talk it over with Harry, he should be _working out_ at our place.”  Meaning down in the base researching or actually working out.  “If he thinks it’s doable I’ll sign off and help you.  But we may need to tap Malcolm’s contacts at city hall to pull this off if you want it to be soon enough to help.”

“Thank you, Ollie!  Thank you!”  Tommy could’ve reached through the phone and _kissed him_ he was so happy.  “I’ll handle Dad, don’t you worry little bro!”

“I wish you wouldn’t call me that.”  With that Tommy just laughed and hung up having gotten what he was after.

“Oliver.”  Diggle, comes over, ushering him to meet a teary-eyed woman who was standing outside of one of the ICU rooms.  “Thanks for coming.  I’d like you to meet Janet, her husband Stan was recently _shot in a robbery_.”

…

“That was a dirty trick, Dig.”  Oliver commented as he watched footage from the robbery later on the computer at the base.

“Learned from that best, Oliver.”  Dig smirked.

…

A couple of days and a dead Derrick Reston later, his wife and son in police custody, Oliver, Harry, and Tommy christened their new club _Verdant_ and opened it for one night to host a fund raiser for CNRI attended by all the glittering names – and open wallets – that Oliver and their family could draw in.

From the second-floor balcony, both Merlyn sons watch as Laurel flirted with one of their childhood nemeses, now a successful surgeon, Carter who their parents had always held up as the perfect, dutiful son.

“Ouch.”  Harry commented from his place snuggled up into Oliver’s side, hiding the bruised ribs he’d gained spoiling the Restons’ last bank job and feeling a bit down since Derrick ended up shot by a security guard.  Only the comment referred to the scene playing out before them.  “Tough luck mate.”

“Figures.”  Tommy said as he tossed back his drink with a forming pout.  “I do all the work –“

“Hey!”  His brothers protested having done plenty to make the night a success.

“Sorry, _we_ , and Dad’s string pulling do all the work and that guy gets the girl.”

“I hate that guy.”  Oliver agreed easily, a frown forming as he spotted another problem – a visibly intoxicated Thea.  “That guy’s right under mercenaries, psycho doctors, and A.R.G.U.S. on my shit list.”

“Huh?”  Tommy asked, blinking knowing there was a story – or several – there.

“We’ll tell you another time.”  Harry said with a wince.  “It’s not exactly talk for polite company.”

“Okay, then.”  Tommy nodded, seeing what had Oliver moody from the corner of his eye.  “Don’t, Oliver.”  He held out one hand, stopping his brother in his tracks.  “You’ve had your say with Thea and it hasn’t gone anywhere.  Let me give it a try.”

Oliver nodded, caving easily since he really wasn’t up to another round of sarcastic commentary and teenage rebellion at the moment.

“Thanks, Tommy.”

“Hey,” he shrugged.  “So I don’t get the girl this time.  Doesn’t mean my hero days are over yet.  Just don’t expect me to start swinging from rooftops any time soon.”

“Deal.”  Oliver and Harry said in unison, laughing as they leaned against each other, glad that once again they’d met it out safe – if a little worse for wear.

“Good news.”  Diggle said, climbing the stairs and passing Tommy on the way.  “Officer Stan is out of his coma.  He’s going to make a full recovery.  You done good, you two.  Now enjoy your damn party already.”

…

_Lian Yu, Late Summer 2008_

“Why are we packing up again?”  Oliver asked just short of a whine.  He was maturing and learning at a rapid rate, no one would deny that.  But he still had his moments where the spoiled teenager peeked through.  This was one of those moments.

“Because.”  Shado explained, the only one of the group with any patience left with Oliver at the moment.  “Harry says and we all agree that the plane isn’t good to see out the winter.  He found a new place, farther from Fyers, to make our main camp until we can escape.”

They were leaving just enough random stuff lying around the camp to make it _seem_ as if it was still at least partially occupied in case Fyers ever tracked it down, attempting to throw him off the scent.

While Harry had been scouting a new base and Slade had kept an eye on Fyers, Yao Fei and Shado had picked up most of the slack when it came to hunting and gathering, teaching Oliver as they went along.  Nights had turned into fighting lessons or archery practice, and since everyone else spoke Russian, even Harry to the others’ surprise, they’d started teaching him that as well.  He still felt miles away from the abilities the others have, but he picked up a lot of the simpler chores like fetching water and cleaning the kills for dinner which freed up the others to do more important jobs to ensure their continued survival.

It was little things a lot of the time, but even those little things made him feel like less of a burden and drain of the group’s resources.

The others apparently agreed with this assessment, Slade backing off on calling him a useless idiot though he still made with the “kid” and “silver spoon” comments.

Yao Fei still called him Foolish and the days rolled on, until Harry located a place he was satisfied with – and passed muster with both their group’s Alphas Yao Fei and Slade.

Now came the problem of actually _getting_ there with all their gear that they’d accumulated.

Hence, the bitching since as he sucked as a scout or hunter – though he was getting better – his contribution to the hike was as a glorified pack mule.

Fyers’ camps were on the western and north-western sides of the island, with Harry’s base on the eastern inland, and Slade’s crash site on a hill in the south-western side.  Their new accommodations would put them firmly on the south-eastern quadrant, as far from Fyers as they could get, and much closer to Harry’s base than either Yao Fei’s old cave or Slade’s plane.  Plus, Harry said there were tidal pools nearby, which would open up their diets to fish or shellfish that they could scavenge there.

Which was a massive plus to the move, since when winter hit hunting would be much harder.

Looking over his shoulder, Oliver eyed the others as he finished packing up his bag with the stuff Shado handed him, spotting something that made him feel…odd.

It was a recent development and he didn’t know quite what to make of it.

But since Harry’d started going off on searches for their new…well… _den_ , Slade had started _watching_ him whenever they were in the same place.  It was different than the sizing-up-for-usefulness looks the Alpha had originally given Harry, and not even close to the wary acceptance he’d settled into before the airstrip.  There was this…intensity that the nineteen-year-old Oliver didn’t know what to make of.

All he knew was that since it’d started, Oliver’s temper had started to play up, even more so when Harry started to watch Slade _back_.

He didn’t know what the change was, though he felt that he really should, making him think it was an Alpha/Omega thing he wasn’t tuning into correctly since his instincts had been fucked over by the suppressants.

But it was driving him crazy trying to figure it out and making him have a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach…all at the same time.

…

“Methinks the pup has a crush.”  Slade said, catching the scowl on Oliver’s face as he tried to covertly watch them as they set out for their winter den.

“Who?”  Harry arched a brow smirking.  “Shado?  Betas can’t be with Omegas, especially not Beta females and Omega males.  I’m sure I explained that to the brat at some point.”

“No, Captain Oblivious.”  Slade snarked under his breath, the two of them trying to be discreet as Oliver’s scowl turned into a full-on glare as he fell in behind the whispering pair.  “On you.”

“Me?”  Harry snorted.  “Yeah right.  If anyone is the subject of such a thing it’d be you Mr. Macho Alpha ASIS Agent.”

“That’s General Macho Alpha ASIS Agent to you, sir.”  Slade shot back, making Harry snort in quiet amusement.  “And I’m being dead serious, he’s not glaring at you, he’s glaring at me.  Take a look.”

Harry scratched idly at the back of his neck, turning his head while it was partially looked and catching sight of what Slade had seen already.

“Huh.”  Harry huffed softly.  “Poor kid is one confused pup.  His parents did him no favors screwing with his chemistry the way they did.  That look on his face is more unsure than anything.  He can’t figure out which of us he’s more interested in.”

“Assholes.”  Slade muttered, hitching his pack into a more comfortable position as Harry trotted off to take point, the conversation shelved until a later date.  “Would like to take a piece out of them for pulling that shit.”

…

_Starling City, The Loft, November 21, 2012_

“Ollie?”  Thea’s voice called out from the intercom.  “Ollie, I need you, Mom’s been in a shooting!”

…

“I’m fine, Walter, honestly.”  Moira Queen sighed as her husband hovered at her bedside, her children nowhere in sight.  “I wasn’t even injured, just startled and scraped from the pavement.”

“Let the doctors be the judge of that, my dear.”  Walter said, running one hand down her golden hair.

Moira opened her mouth to protest that she was perfectly healthy to go home, only to light up in joy as she saw her new visitors arrive through the glass, Oliver and Thea rushing in while Harry and Mr. Diggle remained outside.

“What happened?”  Oliver demanded, eyes hitting on the police officer taking notes beside the bed for Moira’s official statement.

“One of the Bertinelli Syndicate’s street bosses was gunned down at the restaurant Mrs. Queen was dining at.”  The officer told them.  “Unfortunately she was almost hit in the crossfire.”

“Almost?”  Thea cried, tears on her cheeks as she held her mother’s hand, sinking into the bedside chair that Walter gave up like the gentleman he was.  “How close is _almost_?”

…

“The Bertinelli Crime Family.”  Malcolm spoke with his dangerous calm to his youngest as they sparred in the base below Verdant.  “Headed by one Frank Bertinelli, has been hit numerous times in the last weeks, costing them dozens of men.  My contacts in SCPD are saying it’s the work of the Triad.”

“You don’t agree?”  Oliver asked as he fought to keep from losing ground to the older and more experienced fighter.  Besides which as he’d proven many times, swords were _not_ his favorite weapon, though he could use one well enough thanks to Slade and Harry.

“Too sloppy.”  Malcolm told him, forcing Oliver into retreat, which took considerably more effort than it had the first time.  His youngest was like a sponge for technique, picking up everything shown to him.  It made him proud both as a father and as a teacher.  Tommy was coming along as well, but he still lacked that inner drive and fire that the others in his family, including Harry, shared, Diggle was the same.

Too gentle, too kind at the core to make a master killer.

The same couldn’t be said of the other three they trained from and with.

“And too obvious.”  Harry said from where he was sitting at the computer doing research.  “Turf wars aren’t really the Triad’s way.  If they wanted Bertinelli out of the way, they’d send in Chien Na Wei to handle it quietly instead of making a splash.  Especially with the increased heat on them from the failed hit on Laurel earlier this year.”

“Okay.”  Oliver said after losing his round with his father by one hit, breathing harshly from the workout.  “So who has a grudge against the Bertinellis big enough to want to kill them all?”

“And whoever it is, can we send them a bouquet?”  Harry asked perkily, ignoring the frown he got for his efforts.  “Oh, come on love.  These aren’t pillars of the community.  They’re thugs and killers just like the ones on our list.  My vote is we go after the next name and leave the mob to their internal angst.”

“Seconded.”  Malcolm said, giving Harry an approving nod.  He did so enjoy the ruthlessness embodied by his youngest’s bond-mate.  Even if he was a bit older than Malcolm would prefer.  He turned to the list, tapping a name.  “You’ve taken down seven of these corruptors since you’ve been back.  But there’s a problem.”

“What?”  Oliver asked, confused.  “What problem?”

“This man: Dr. Doug Miller.  He’s the head of Queen Consolidated’s new Applied Sciences division.”

Oliver closed his eyes slowly, cursing under his breath first in Mandarin then Russian as the implications of that on top of the arranged kidnapping by Moira made themselves known.

Arms wrapped loosely around him from behind, Harry rising to comfort his distressed bond-mate, knowing how hard this continued trend was on him.  Ever since they’d come to this city, the evidence had stacked and stacked up pointing towards Moira Queen as being part of the corruption plaguing the city.  This was just one more in a series of red flags that were popping up more and more frequently.

“We’ll figure it out, love.”  Harry whispered in his ear, Malcolm watching them with warm eyes, nodding in agreement as he heard Harry’s comforting words.  “If she’s involved, there’s nothing we – or you – can do to change that.  We just have to take things as they come and put the pieces together: one name at a time.”

“She’s my mother.”  Oliver said, voice heartbroken.  “And the more I find out, the more I realize…I never knew her at all.”

“Moira is a complex woman.”  Malcolm said, wrapping his arm around Oliver’s neck in a fierce hug and pressing a fatherly kiss to his temple.  “This could all just be a misunderstanding.”

“And if it’s not?”  Oliver asked, reaching out and wrapping one arm around his father and the other behind him, digging into Harry’s hip.  “I can’t…handle her the way I have the rest.  But I can’t just let this go either.”

“A solution will come, son.”  Malcolm reassured him, pulling back and looking down into the face he’d come to love fiercely.  “But first we have to, as your mate said, put the pieces together.  And the next piece is this Dr. Miller.”

…

Harry’s joke about the Bertinelli issue being a case of “internal angst” ended up being spot on, as the reporters light up the morning new with word that Frank Bertinelli and all of his higher ups had been gunned down by none other than his own daughter Helena in revenge for the murder of her fiancé.

“I know why Dr. Miller is on the list.”  Oliver reported days later as they watched the morning news report on the Bertinelli case.  The group of vigilantes and helpers were having breakfast together at the Loft having worked out there for a change as Verdant underwent finishing touches before the dry runs kicked off, with too many workers and decorators coming at all hours for them to feel secure using the base.

“What?”  Tommy perked up, interested despite the funk he’d been in after failing to rekindle his romance with Laurel who seemed contentedly married to her work with CNRI’s funding secured for the next few years.  “Why?”

Oliver reached out and linked hands with Harry who gave him an encouraging nod.

“He’s the doctor who supplied my mother with the military-grade suppressants I was dosed with for over three years.”

Malcolm nodded in understanding, while Dig and Tommy studied Oliver like he was an alien from outer-space.

“Suppressants?”  Tommy turned and faced his brother, setting his coffee and plate aside.  “Why would you need suppressants?  Aren’t those only for…”

“Omegas?”  Oliver gave a bitter laugh.  “Welcome to my world.  Only I found out the hard way: when they wore off on Lian Yu and left me a fucked up wreck for over a year as they worked their way out of my system.”

“He’d been constantly suppressed for years without his knowledge or consent by who we originally believed was Robert but Malcolm suspected and now we’ve found proof that it was Moira all along in an attempt to shield evidence that Malcolm was Oliver’s sire.”  Harry supplied, knowing all Oliver had done was further confuse the shit out of Tommy and Dig.  “When they wore off he had no idea what was going on or that he was supposed to be an Omega.”

“It screwed with everything.”  Ollie said harshly, still thinking of that first year, year and a half before his system calmed down and smoothed out.  “Hormones, pheromones, instincts.  I didn’t know up from down half the damn time, and went through a hellish six months before my heats started to somewhat regulate.  But the effects weren’t completely gone until after my second winter there.”

Oliver had weathered almost a year before meeting Slade, with help from Yao Fei, Harry, and then later captive in Fyers’ camp.

“Bonding helped.”  Harry gave a soft smile, that was tinged with sadness for what they’d lost.  “But even that was screwed up since his instincts had no idea who he was supposed to be attracted to.”

“Wait.”  Tommy threw up his hands, a jarring thought coming to mind.  “How are you two bonded if you’re both Omegas?”

“They’re not.”  Dig answered knowingly, having puzzled it out.  “They’re always sure to call each other bond- _mates_ not bonded.  If I had to guess they’re part of a bonded triad or more, with the other mates somehow gone.”

“Dead.”  Oliver said voice hollow.  “Our Alpha’s dead.  Has been for several years.”

“But we stayed together.”  Harry said firmly as Oliver snuggled into his warmth for comfort, breathing in his familiar scent and catching just the barest hint of their Alpha’s eucalyptus underneath, the last remnant of their triad save for their marks.  “It’s what he would’ve wanted for us, instead of splitting up and going off alone like most do when they lose a bonded.”

…

_Lian Yu, the Den, Late Summer 2008_

“Come on, kid.”  Slade shook Oliver awake as was their routine while the weather stayed good enough that they could train.  They’d maintain during the winter, but as food got scarce they’d have to conserve energy where they could, which would truncate the amount of real sweat-building workouts they could do.  “Wakey wakey.”

“Don’ wanna.”  Oliver groaned, popping open one sea-green eye in a bleary glare.  “Azhole.”

“Up, kid.”  Slade ordered, sounding entirely too happy to be up with the sun.  “You’re with me and pommy for the day, the Yaos are out scouting and hunting.  If you’re good Harry promised to take us to a place nearby to scrub up after.”

“’k.”  Oliver yawned, rising at last, already dressed due to Slade’s insistence on everyone sleeping in their boots and clothes with a weapon on them.  He wandered over to the main chamber of the cave Harry had found, which had a vent in the ceiling that led out to air a couple stories up.

Altogether the little cave system in the mountain range not far from Harry’s base had four chambers they could easily access: a main room, a small alcove with a fresh water spring – which was the main selling point of this cave over another, and two chambers of various sizes the smaller of which the Yao’s had claimed, leaving the larger for the single males to share.

Harry had speculated that the fresh water spring was part of an underground system that fed multiple cavern pools in these mountains, as his “bolt-hole” as Slade called it – which _still_ none of them knew the location of – had one similar and was close by though he didn’t say where.

“Why do you call him that?”  Oliver asked once they were all fed and watered and taking part in their morning run, Oliver actually able to make conversation without huffing and puffing all over the place after being at it for months.

“What, pommy?”  Slade asked as he sped up, urging the kid on.  “It’s Aussie slang for a Brit.  References the British immigration to Australia.”

“Ah, okay.”  Oliver nodded, hurdling a downed tree with a gasp.  “Makes sense I guess.”

It wasn’t a pet name; it was just slang.

For some reason he didn’t want to analyze, that tidbit made Oliver’s day.

…

Finishing his workout with Slade, which included calisthenics and strength building exercises now, Oliver found himself working first with knives and then with hand-to-hand, Harry and Slade taking turns teaching and/or pummeling him into the dirt.  It was still hard work, very hard, but as time had passed he’d started picking it up more and more as the lessons built onto each other.  But too, each of his trainers had very different styles, both in how they taught him and what they taught him.

Wrung out, he grabbed a change of clothes curtesy of one of Slade and Harry’s midnight raids on Fyers’ camp, and met up with the other men, Harry the last to arrive and leading the way with a large pack, Slade keeping an eye out for trouble while the Brit picked his way easily – but carefully – over the rocky terrain.

After about an hour hike, Oliver found himself following the others into a small valley hidden in the mountain range, with a small swimming hole that was fed by a trickling waterfall that was likely massive following the spring thaw but now at the end of summer was barely more than his shower at home.

Yao Fei had beaten his acquired water and drowning fears into the ground, tossing him into a lake near his cave when Oliver’s smell had gotten too much for the Alpha to handle any longer.

It’d been a serious case of tough-love, but at least Oliver could stand being under water long enough to swim, bathe, or wash clothes.

Shyness had long ago made way for practicality, but still Oliver couldn’t help but be a _little_ bashful as the other men stripped to their skin and headed for the water.  Harry had set out some things from his pack on a rock that jutted into the pool, what looked like a couple pots and tubes, a bar of soap, and even some large cloths or towels to dry off.  His eyes trailed helplessly over the cut and ripped form of Harry, even all these months after he first saw him in nothing but his skin and scars – which made his look like child’s play, on his back at least though he had some nasty ones on his chest and arms as well – the other Omega didn’t have the slightest hint of fat, any that he’d had before worn away by the island like the harsh sea wind against a sea stack, leaving nothing but the rock hard frame work behind.

And Slade was just ridiculously massive, layers and layers of muscles slabbed over his chest, arms, and legs, his lower abs a slab of muscle with grooves cut into it, marred here and there by scars from his missions with the Navy or ASIS, in addition to the ones from Wintergreen’s sword and the other tortures and dangers of the island.

They were a study in contrasts: both dark haired and dangerous men of action who each had a code they followed – even if it made sense to no one but them – but that was where the similarities ended and the stark differences began.

Slade was massive, Harry was ripped.

Harry was a green-eyed Englishman, Slade a dark-eyed Australian of Maori descent.

Slade was taller and stronger – though that was a guess based on sheer mass – while Harry was shorter and had a flexible agility that impressed even Shado.

Oliver could list both the similarities and the differences all day and probably come up with more as he went: Slade for his gruffness was rather sociable, Harry acted charming at times but really didn’t care to be around people.  And so it went.  A shout from the pool dragged him away from his thoughts, Oliver realizing he’d paused with his shirt off, his hands fiddling with it as he stared off.

“Hey, kid!”  Slade yelled back, coming up out of the water with a grin after dunking himself.  “You going to stand there all day in your stink, or what?”

Blushing, especially since both of the older men were now focused on watching him instead of scrubbing out their clothes which was their first step after diving in using the bar of soap Harry’d set out, Oliver scrambled to strip down, setting his boots with the other two pairs and his weapons on the rock, then gathering up his dirty clothes and sinking down into the water, moving over and taking the offered of soap from Harry – who had a pleasantly amused look on his lightly-scruffed face, the other Omega having proven that he couldn’t really grow much in way of a beard.

Quick and practiced movements had his pants, shirt, and socks scrubbed, rinsed, wrung then laid out to dry, underwear being a worry of the past in the sweltering summer heat and lack of replacements after his first had worn out.

They were all willing to source just about anything by raiding either the camps or dead bodies, but not even the super-practical Yao Fei was interested in wearing a dead-man’s jockey shorts.

By the time he was finished with that and turned around, he found Slade standing under the trickling waterfall looking like a pin-up from one of Laurel’s Thunder from Down Under calendars, suds from the current scrubbing of his hair dripping down his muscles that shone from the water and the fierce tropical sun.

Oliver stared a moment wide-eyed at the sight, before being startled once more by a voice, only this one was much closer and came with breath hot on his ear.

“Delicious sight, that, isn’t it.”  Harry whispered conspiringly to the younger Omega.  “Nothing to get you going quite like an apex Alpha, is there?  And Slade is definitely one-hundred-percent prime Alpha.”

“I---.” Oliver gulped, closing his open mouth and swallowing harshly between the heat coming off the man at his side and the sight before him, brain completely fried.  “I don’t know…”

“Don’t know?”  Harry charged him, amused.  “Or just don’t want to say?”  A callused hand stroked soothingly down Oliver’s back, making the muscles twitch and the young Omega shiver against his will.  “You’re confused, aren’t you?”

“So much.”  Oliver whispered, sea-green eyes catching on emerald green in a lost look.  “My brain tells me one thing but my instincts are still scrambled and tell me another.  I just…”  His voice broke, head falling forward as he buried it in his hands, Harry moving to embrace him from behind, his stronger, matured Omega frame being in turns comforting and unbearably arousing to Oliver, though the cold of the water kept Harry from an erection that likely would’ve startled the other and sent him running.

“Shh, Oliver, hey.”  Harry hunched a little and rested his head on the young man’s shoulder, hands rubbing over his arms.  “It’s okay.  You don’t have to figure it out alone.  All of us – even Shado as much as she can as a Beta – understand that you’re tangled up from what was done to you.”

“I don’t even know when it happened.”  Oliver’s voice was muffled by his hands but still audible to Harry – and the eavesdropping Slade that was keeping an ear – and eye – on the pair.

Not that it was hard on Slade to do so – other than the heat inevitably created from seeing a pair of gorgeous damn Omegas plastered together naked like something out of an Alpha’s wet dream.

Slade had never really gone for Omegas before, other than being drawn in by their damned pheromones.  Too soft for him.  He’d always been a strong man, he’d been afraid he’d do damage if he let himself go with an Omega female – who tended to be on the small-and-dainty side – and despite Harry and Oliver both being Omega males, their dynamic and gender combination only made up maybe five percent of the population world-wide.

And even those tended to be a bit on the lithe and, smooth he guessed, side.

Not really his cuppa, going for other Alphas or even the rare Beta who could handle themselves like his ex-wife and the mother of his son Joe.

Then smart-mouthed – and confused as shit – pup Oliver came strolling into his wreck, having survived under Billy’s sword without breaking and ready to go toe-to-toe with Slade – even if he was shit at it, before leading him straight to Harry who blew the rest of Slade’s set “ideas” about Omegas on their collective arse.

It was enough to make an Alpha ache, and at least half the time it was entirely accidental on the part of the pair, though Harry’d never been shy about shooting him appreciative looks but being more focused on getting off this damned rock neither of them had done anything despite the scent of heat, spice, and danger that peaked whenever Slade got to close to the British Omega.

“First I was an Alpha, then I come here and _surprise_ , Omega.”  Oliver continued as Harry held him, listening carefully.  “I’m going on heat and my instincts – Jesus are they fucked up – and I’m half-scared to death and half-hard at one whiff of Slade.  Then I’m pretty sure I hate him, days later he’s saving me over and over and he’s not so bad and then not-so-bad turns into god-he’s-hot and then he just _smells_ so,” Oliver gave an involuntary subvocal growl that rumbled against Harry’s chest, the other Omega knowing just what he meant.  “But then there’s _you_ and you’ve always taken care of me and tried to help me survive, and you’re just so damn _pretty_ but you’re an Omega too and…”

A pair of hot hands captured his chin from under his own and lifted his head up, the last thing he saw before his eyes fell shut a pair of gleaming dark eyes as a hard, hungry mouth stole his breath and silenced his confusion, for the moment at least.

…

_Starling City, The Glades, November 24, 2012_

Tommy locked up the club doors behind him, setting out for his car parked in the lot across the street, the garage next door not open to the public yet.

They were close.

The final inspections were finished and they were going to have several dry runs over the next several weeks leading up to their Grand Opening on New Year’s Eve.

Things were _finally_ going good with his father, Ollie was back – and okay he belonged to a family of vigilantes/assassins but they were still good people at heart – and even things ending for good with Laurel hadn’t taken the shine off of his new venture with his brother and Harry.

Originally, Tommy had thought that the offer to help manage the club was just that: a job as a club manager, something he was actually really well qualified to do with his business degree and social skills.

Turned out, Verdant was only the tip of the iceberg as far as what Oliver and Harry had set in motion since being hauled off Lian Yu in August.

Tommy Merlyn was now the Chief Operating Officer of H.O.M.E., Harry and Oliver Merlyn Enterprises, of which Oliver was C.E.O. and Harry was C.F.O., they’d even stolen Diggle from Queen Consolidated in the wake of his resignation and while he still acted as Oliver’s bodyguard he was really the head of Security for the Starling-based company that was responsible for breathing new life into the Glades.

Verdant had been the beginning, though if he knew his brother at all there had to be other holdings hidden from public – and private – scrutiny.  But somewhere between buying the foundry and Tommy coming on board, Harry and Ollie had snapped up properties all over the Glades using their inheritances, mainly housing, and were working on having them all brought up to code, as well as making any necessary improvements so their tenants have decent places to live.  Harry had also openly purchased the building next to the foundry and was renovating it into a garage with an attached café, though that project wasn’t under the HOME aegis.

He'd been thrilled when they brought him on board after learning about their vigilante-ism, and if he wasn’t mistaken his Dad had had that proud look on his face for hours afterwards when it was revealed that their goals to clean up the city didn’t start and stop with bloodshed but also with taking on the problem at the core: the Glades.

Making criminals cower and giving hope to the little guy was apparently the new family business.

And he couldn’t be prouder to be a part of it.

The interested looks he’d been fielding from the ladies as he got bulked and toned from working out in the Verdant basement didn’t hurt things either.

A scuffle and a woman’s shout caught his attention, his head whipping around to see a car pulled over on the side of the road with a woman pressed up against it, crying, as she was attacked.  Tommy flashed back to the recording his father had played for him of his mother’s last moments, eyes hitting on the passers-by who scurried away.  The Glades may be improving but for now it was still every man – or woman – for themselves.  No one even paused.

Rage filling him, Tommy dropped his briefcase and keys on the sidewalk, sprinting silently down the pavement, the only sign of his rapid approach the _smack smack smack_ of his leather soles on the concrete.

The thug and would-be rapist didn’t even have time to blink as Tommy’s training at the hands of several masters came rushing to the forefront, his target not prepared in the slightest to face an actual fighter no matter how newly entered into serious training.

Blows raining down in rapid-fire strikes with the weight of an enraged Alpha behind them knocking the attacker – another Alpha – to the ground, the other man weakly slashing at one arm with the knife he clenched in one hand.

Tommy barely felt it, knocking the knife away with a kick to the thug’s wrist before stomping down on the hand, breaking it and making the thug cry out, following up with a kick to the temple at had him out cold.

“They, they.”  The woman, a blonde Omega with beautiful – but teary and shocked at the moment – blue eyes stuttered as she fixed her glasses and wrapped her arms around herself as she huddled against the car she’d nearly been raped against.  “They just, they just kept walking!  Who, who does that?”

“People who are so used to seeing the worst of everything that they’re blind to it.”  Tommy sighed, remembering something his dad had said when Tommy had been floored by his mother’s last words.  “Come on,” he gestured for her to walk with him.  “I’m guessing your car is broken down or something.  My club is nearby, we’ll get you a drink and call the cops.”  He sneered down at the thug, giving him an extra kick for good measure.  “ _He’ll_ be out for a while.”

“Okay.”  She shuddered out a weak breath, leaning into her knight-in-Armani.  “Thank you.  I’m Felicity Smoak.”

“Tommy, Tommy Merlyn.”  He gave her a soft smile.  “Nice to meet you at last, Ms. Smoak, my brother Oliver has said good things about your work.”

…

_Starling City, Verdant Base, Next Morning_

“Great job with helping out Felicity, Tommy.”  Diggle said, clapping the younger man on the back heartily.  “She’s a good girl, something like that…”  He shook his head.

“I’m just glad it happened somewhere where help could be found.”  Tommy said, still disgusted over seeing for himself just how…apathetic people could be to suffering.  “Imagine if that’d happened elsewhere in the Glades?”

“What was she doing here, anyway?”  Harry asked, as he worked the salmon ladder, Dig and Tommy were on the pull-up bars, not quite up to the point of the salmon ladder, Oliver and Malcolm hovering over the computer screen looking into the “good” doctor further.  “Her QC file says she lives on the other side of town.”

“Volunteering, apparently.”  Tommy smiled bemusedly thinking about it.  “Had to get a specific thing from a certain store…”  He dropped to the ground and sucked in a couple of breaths waving a hand for emphasis.  “Car broke down.”

“That’s…lucky and insanely bad timing all at once.”  Harry shook his head, working his way back down the ladder.  “What’ve you got on the doctor, love?  Aside from the suppressants?”

“Our Dr. Miller’s finances are way above and beyond a little trafficking in suppressants and his salary from QC.”  Oliver stated, frowning as he and Malcolm tried to trace the money trail.  “He has to be in something deeper.”

“Well then.”  Harry walked over and gave him a buss on the cheek.  “I guess I better suit up tonight.  The doctor needs a house call.”

…

Two teams went out that night, Harry flying solo to interrogate the doctor while Oliver with Dig for backup took on a businessman who’d embezzled retirement funds from the list named Nelson Ravich.

The idea was for Ravich to be “convinced” in Oliver’s menacing way to return his ill-gotten gains before turning him over to the police while they still weren’t sure what was going to be done with Miller.  Oliver, understandably, was too close to the situation to make a clear call, leaving it up to Harry’s discretion…even though he had a good damn idea what Harr’s “solution” would be.  None of the others could say they were all that upset about the doctor’s likely end.

Thanks to Miller, Oliver had been put in a position where, if Yao Fei or Harry or any of the others helping him had been different, he would have ended up either being a sex slave or dead.

No one had any illusions about what a group of murderous, immoral mercenaries would’ve done with an Omega in heat who was lost and confused over what was happening.

…

The next morning, Lieutenant Lance stared down at the sight of yet another body.

He’d already been out on a call over the “Hood” terrorizing another dirty businessman, culminating in Ravich transferring millions out of his personal accounts and then turning himself in at the precinct.  They’d gone to Ravich’s place to investigate the scene, finding only a green arrow shot into the wall beside a knocked-over office chair.  Again.

Then the call had come in.

One Doctor Doug Miller had been found dead in his home office, incriminating files all around him, and a tape recorder sitting in the middle of his desk which had already been sent out for analyzing.

It was the contents of the recorder that summoned Lance to the scene as the now-infamous “You have failed this city,” were the final words on the tape.

But there wasn’t an arrow to be found, instead a long thin dagger had been used to pin Dr. Miller to his desk…through his temple and out the other side.

“What do you think?”  Hilton asked after they’d been given a summary of what had caught Miller’s killer’s attention: human trafficking, drug running, and illegally suppressing Omegas.  “Copycat?”

“Miller’s the Hood’s kind of scumbag, that’s for sure.”  Lance said, walking around the desk, making sure not to contaminate the scene.  “What kind of knife is this, anyone know?”

“It’s a misericorde.”  One of the forensic techs spoke up.  They all liked Lance because he thanked them and didn’t blame them for doing their job like some of the other cops and detectives.  As a result, his tests and questions tended to get their help faster than others.  The tech pointed to an empty display on the bookshelf that he’d already dusted for prints…which would likely belong to either the victim or his maid.  “According to the plaque.”

“Stabbed with his own knife?”  Lance arched a brow.

“Why not?”  A uniform shrugged.  “He’s used their own guns on them before.”

Hilton had taken out his phone, reading the name of the knife off the plaque – specifically the spelling – and typing it into his search browser.  “Oh, you’ve gotta be shitting me.”  He groaned reading what popped up.

“What?”  Lance asked, as he leaned down to study the evidence closer.

“Misericorde: used to deliver the final fatal blow in an act of mercy.”  Hilton’s mouth was pulled down grimly as he met his partner’s gaze.  “Also called a _coup de grâce_.”

Lance stood cursing, running one hand over the back of his neck.

“I think we need to seriously consider the possibility that either the Hood has an accomplice or there’s more than one vigilante in Starling City.”

…


	6. Five - Uncensored

** Al Darbat Qatila **

_Author’s Note: Fun fan fact – Deadpool (Marvel) introduced in the 90’s is an acknowledged rip-off of the character Deathstroke (DC) who debuted in Teen Titans in 1980, which doesn’t really surprise anyone as comic book companies have had notoriously sticky fingers regarding each other’s work.  The whole Deathstroke/Deadpool relationship is further muddied by Deathstroke (I kid you not) having a cousin named Wade._

**Chapter Five: Minxes and Behemoths**

_Lian Yu, Bathing Pool, Late Summer 2008_

Harry watched with fiery emerald eyes as Slade _devoured_ Oliver, claiming him like an unconquered territory.

Which Harry supposed as at least partially how Slade’s inner Alpha saw both of them.

Him, because he’d never trusted anyone enough not to force a bond on him, and Oliver as since before washing ashore Lian Yu, he’d thought himself an Alpha and had been the dominant party in any affairs.

Not to say that there weren’t gay Alpha males out there who didn’t bottom…it was just rare to find in those who were younger, like Oliver.

Harry’d never had a problem admitting, at least to himself, when he found someone attractive no matter what their dynamic was.

He’d also never found one of those attractive people that he felt he could trust – not just with his body but with all of himself.

Creating probably the only thirty-year-old virgin Omega in _either_ world he’s lived in.

Then a mouthy brat who reminded Harry far too much of himself waltzed into his life thanks to Fei, followed months later by the indomitable Slade.

The pair of them were loyal, Harry trusted them with his life as well as those of the rest of their group, and damn if their smells didn’t make him want to climb them like a pair of jungle gyms.

Scents that were intensifying rapidly under the strong late summer sun as Oliver made a dick-hardened moaning sound in his throat, wrapping his arms around Slade’s neck and holding on for dear life.

Some would say that starting something – anything – while living on Lian Yu was a foolhardy risk.

Deadly even.

But as far as Harry was concerned, they could die at any moment.

And what was life without a little risk?

Nuzzling his nose into the scent glands at the back of Oliver’s neck, Harry nipped lightly, the heady combination of Slade’s Alpha eucalyptus-spice-salt scent filling his senses and mingling with Oliver’s crisper sea air-herb-honey almost buckling his knees as it rushed over him.

His own spice-steel-rain rose to meet and join, wrapping around the trio in a marker that would wear away in a day or so – unless they eventually bonded as a triad then all of them would carry an undertone of the others, even if a mate dies, until they themselves passed away.

It was a combination of a warning to others – a pheromonal “don’t touch” sign – and a comfort to both mates and any pups they might have, marking them all as a unit and giving a sense of belonging.

Releasing Oliver with a soft nip to his lower lip, Slade reached around and palmed the back of Harry’s head, pinning Oliver between their naked and wet heated bodies, and taking what he’d been fantasizing about for weeks, capturing that lush mouth with his own and diving deep without the hint of tender caution he’d given Oliver due to the Omega’s age and confusion.

There was _nothing_ at all confused about either him or Harry.

And now that they had Oliver sandwiched between them and panting, his sea-blue-green eyes blown in lust, neither of them saw any reason to be shy about what they wanted – each other and Oliver with them, his confused jealousy having sparked an idea in both their minds of expanding what might be a short-lived and volatile duo into a steady triad with Oliver’s…gentling influence on both older men.

To an outsider it likely wouldn’t be obvious that he had that effect on them.

Especially not with how they trained him or moved in concert to leave him swimming in lusty arousal.

But if one looked closer they would see the little things – a softening of Slade’s voice when they sat around the fire talking, a green-eyed Omega searching for a certain berry bush because it was Oliver’s favorite.  Little, almost unnoticeable things.  But it was those little things that could make all the difference in the world…and keep Harry and Slade from killing each other because they at heart were just too damn much alike to make an easy go of a bond, even with their dynamics and pheromones smoothing the way.

Oliver was the glue that they thought might be able to hold them together…for however long they decided they wanted this _thing_ to last.

Slade bit lightly at first Harry’s then Oliver’s neck, before backing up and removing Oliver’s arms from around his neck the young Omega’s limbs nearly-limb he was so overwhelmed, before turning him gently with his large, rough hands on his shoulders to face Harry.

Harry’s kiss was different, more seduction and temptation than claiming, his lips and tongue brushing slowly and lingeringly, learning each and every inch of Oliver’s silken mouth before drawing slowly away, setting fire to a yearning in Oliver for more.

“You know what we want now.”  Harry told him, his voice a husky growl.  “What happens next is up to you.”

“What happens next?”  Oliver asked, voice weak and dazed, pupils still blown.

“Up to you.”  Harry repeated.  “Everything or nothing or something in-between, it’s your choice Oliver.”  With that Harry dove under the cold water, trying to bank back the fire raging in him and get his libido back under control.

Damn Slade.

He’d rushed the plan.

But then, Slade had never been shy about anything in his life from what Harry could tell.

It was sexy as hell…and aggravating as fuck.

“Don’t take too long to decide, yeah?”  Slade told him with a naughty smirk.  “Ball’s in your court… _Oliver_.”  He drawled the name in his accent, knowing the affect it could have on people.

Plus…it’d be a little weird calling him _kid_ when he was planning to do horrible, disgusting, wonderful things to that long, tight body.

Oliver fell back several paces until his back was propped against the rock, reaching out blindly for the bottle of all-in-one wash they all used to get themselves clean, running on auto-pilot while his brain tried to process… _what the fuck just happened_?

…

_Starling City, Queen Consolidated IT Department, December 1, 2012_

Felicity Smoak took a deep, life-giving drink of her peppermint mocha, loving that the delicious concoction had once again returned to Starbucks everywhere, as she happily fired up her computers and started opening up the apps she’d need to help bumbling idiots figure out how to debug their computers after using company systems to download porn.

Except for the interesting tidbit she researched here or there for Walter – and the occasional _really bad_ lies Oliver Queen used on her, please, she was blonde not stupid and his brother fought like a machine – her degree and abilities were _seriously_ underutilized in her current position.

No.

What was making her happy this morning was the sight of the dried roses she’d woken up to, having been delivered the morning after yummy Tommy Merlyn saved her in the Glades.  She’d saved them, giving into her inner romantic.  It wasn’t every day an Omega girl like her (more into computers than having pups and settling down) was sent a dozen blood-red roses by an Armani-wearing honest-to-god hero of an Alpha.  Dinner the next night had followed and was the first of four dates over the last ten – or so, not that she was counting, ok, she totally was – days.

She knew Tommy didn’t have the _best_ reputation in the world, her curious fingers easily finding the tabloids covers his _numerous_ affairs and one-night-stands.  And he was a couple years younger – okay, four – than her own twenty-seven.  Those where things to give a thinking girl pause.

But she’d _also_ found that he’d been a steady presence supporting both Moira and Thea Queen after Oliver and Robert’s disappearances and assumed deaths, despite his young relatively young age, stepping in as surrogate son and big brother to the two ladies.  He supported various causes, including both CNRI which his old girlfriend partnered in and his late mother’s mission of a free clinic in the Glades that was still serving the community over ten years after her unsolved murder.  Then with Oliver’s return and eventual outing as his actual half-brother, it really seemed he’d turned over a new life: COO of H.O.M.E. and manager of the upcoming club Verdant, not to mention that saving-her-from-an-attacker thing.

Tommy Merlyn might be a (reformed by all accounts) playboy and a _bit_ of a badboy…but he was also a good man.

One that she was very much enjoying getting to know.

A knock on her open door had Felicity spinning in her chair to smile…only for it to fade a bit at the sight of Walter.

She’d been helping him where she could, digging into his wife’s shady and shadier dealings.

But this time she’d genuinely hit a brick wall.

Though if she wanted she was sure she could find a way around it…with what she _thought_ she’d figured out about Oliver and Tommy…she didn’t think she really _wanted_ to.  Not this time.  Not to make her boss feel better about his bitch of an Omega.

Moira Queen talked a good game, but when she strutted around QC, all the other Omegas knew to stay the hell out of her way, lest they find themselves either subject to her blatant scorn and condescension for “working instead of being a good Omega and mate” like Moira or fired for whatever strange or bizarre reason the woman could come up with off the top of her head.

Felicity was honestly grateful that Walter was a gentleman and a discrete businessman, else she knew she’d already be gone and working at Best Buy if she was lucky or back home on her mom’s couch if she wasn’t.

“I’m sorry Walter.”  She told him.  “But other than knowing that the vigilante somehow knows about Moira’s list, I haven’t been able to find anything else.”

“Thank you anyway for trying, Ms. Smoak.”  Walter smiled a bit sadly.  “I think it’s best at this point that we leave it alone.  It’s clear now that whatever is going on is too dangerous for the pair of us to handle.”

Before she could answer – or he could continue – a cheery whistle caught their attention, followed swiftly by the appearance of a flower-bearing Tommy Merlyn, this time with a freaking _gorgeous_ arrangement of gerbera daisies in winter colors of whites, creams, and various blues.

“Hello, Tommy.”  Walter greeted him warmly, extending his hand to shake that of his friend’s son.  “What brings you to QC’s IT department today?”

“Well, Walter.”  Tommy shook genially and then beamed down at the equally-beaming Felicity.  “I was hoping to invite the lovely Felicity to my father’s dinner party tomorrow, you and Moira will be coming I assume?”

“Of course, of course.”  Walter nodded, eyes travelling between the two young people as Felicity stood and eagerly accepted the flowers, going up on her tip-toes to lightly kiss Tommy’s cheek in thanks.  “I didn’t know you two were…acquainted.”

“Tommy saved me from a…mugger.”  Felicity hedged a bit, trying to block the incident out, setting the bouquet down on her desk next to her main screen.  “He was very…gallant.”

“Good show, Tommy.”  Walter clapped him on the back.  “And then he saw what a lovely catch you are, I’m sure?”

“Pretty much.”  Tommy shuffled a bit in place, smiling as he locked eyes with the Omega that was occupying more and more of his thoughts as the days passed.  “I was raised to notice a deal of a lifetime – and go after it, or in this case, her.”

“Excellent.”  Walter nodded, turning away, semi-fatherly feelings for his young employee assuaged.  “Be good to each other, children.  I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

They waited a moment for Walter to walk away, Felicity collapsing a bit into her chair as she giggled.

“You just got the father treatment from my boss.”

Tommy shook his head, staring down at his girlfriend.  “Well, you’ll have your chance at doing the meet-the-family tomorrow, eight o-clock, I’ll pick you up.”

With that Tommy sauntered away after giving her a smacking kiss on her smiling mouth, Felicity calling after him: “What should I wear?”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll have something sent over from the boutique.”

Felicity sat back, a bit stunned at her first real taste of dating a Merlyn.  “But.”  She whispered to the cheerful flowers.  “How does he know my size?”

…

_Starling City Channel 7 Morning News, December 1, 2012_

_“Starling City mourns today as a pillar of the community and business world Frank Chen was murdered last night while visiting friends in Central City.  No news yet on the killer, though sources say that he was shot by a large-caliber sniper rifle from up to several city blocks away.  Mr. Chen leaves behind his paralyzed daughter Amanda, who was safe at their family home in Starling at the time of shooting.  Cheryl Dandridge has the story…”_

…

_Starling City, Merlyn Manor, December 2, 2012_

“Can I just say.”  Harry sighed as he and Oliver descended the stairs from Oliver’s room at his father’s home, Malcolm having had a suite decorated and furnished in case his youngest ever needed to stay the night the same as he maintained Tommy’s suite though the elder Merlyn brother had moved out a few months after Oliver’s disappearance on the Gambit.  They made use of it to get cleaned up and changed for Malcolm’s dinner party after spending the night before until the wee hours supervising the first dry run of Verdant.  “That while I appreciate Malcolm opening his arms to you – us – I really wish it didn’t come with the socializing strings attached?”

“Welcome to my life.”  Oliver gave him a commiserating half-grin.  “I fight with Mother and stop having to go to her society events, only to end up with a father that throws his own.”

“Call it part of the dues we pay to enjoy our lifestyle, boys.”  Malcolm told them humorously as he met them at the base of the stairs, sweeping his eyes approvingly over their clothes, though Harry tended to favor fancy-dress with a more “old world” flair than he was used to.  “Keeping our friends close and our potential enemies or allies closer.”

“Yes, Malcolm.”  They said in unison, grinning as Tommy made a gagging sound as he joined the scene with a lovingly-decked-out Felicity on his arm.

If there had been paparazzi present, they would’ve been drooling all over themselves at the picture they made.

First there was Felicity, draped in fire-engine-red silk from an Italian label, with matching black Louboutins on her feet with their iconic red-sole and stiletto putting her six inches closer to Tommy’s six-two height though still a good six inches short of it, with delicate silver gleaming at her ears and wrist, her hair up in an elegant sweep and her glasses replaced with contacts leaving her crystal blue eyes shining and her face with an elegant gloss of make up to beam at her companion.

On her arm and clockwise in the circle, Tommy matched her perfectly in modern, slim-cut Armani showing off his improved shoulders and arms in black, a gunmetal shirt and red silk tie and pocket silk with silver cufflinks and watch finishing the picture with his own pair of Louboutins with red accents on the sole and outersole.

Beside him was Malcolm, who as always preferred a Mandarin collared suit from a Tokyo designer carefully concealing the powerful form with midnight blue silk and a white-and-pale blue shirt and striped tie, platinum cufflinks with sapphires and matching watch on his wrists.

With one foot on the bottom step and one next to his father, Oliver and his three-piece suit in dark grey was a foil to his darker-haired father and lover, the only pop of color on his monochrome ensemble coming from the silk emerald-green embroidery on his vest.  Next to him with one hand resting on the stair rail was Harry in endless black, the shirt rebelliously open at his neck matching the emerald of both his eyes and Oliver’s vest perfectly, onyx cufflinks with silver detailing flashing at his wrists.  A vision of handsomeness – and feminine loveliness in Felicity’s case – to make any society mama swoon.

And moreover they – the men at least – knew it and were to a man prepared to use it to their advantage.

“Please don’t encourage him.”  Tommy told his brother dramatically as he and Felicity joined the others while they waited for the first of Malcolm’s guest to arrive to move over to the living room.  “Or else he’ll be trotting us all out every time he wants to make a deal, just you wait.”

“Well, you all make such a vision I can’t help but want to show off my handsome sons.”  Malcolm said with no-little humor.  Lifting his hand, he held it out to his eldest’s companion.  “Hello my dear, you must be Ms. Smoak.  I’m Malcolm Merlyn, Tommy’s scary father.”

“Pleased to meet you Mr. Merlyn.”  Felicity said, holding onto her composure.  Honestly, Malcolm Merlyn didn’t really _look_ like her idea of _anybody’s_ father.  She supposed that Tommy and Oliver came by their good looks naturally though.  Reaching out she clasped his hand, only to start and blush – just a little – when Malcolm held his gently between his and gave it a charming kiss.

“Pleasure’s all mine, I assure you, Ms. Smoak.”  He said, giving her hand a squeeze and then releasing it, shooting a look at the rolling-eyed glare Tommy shot him.  “I believe you’ve met my son Oliver, this is his bond-mate, Harry Black.”

Clasping hands, Harry and Felicity gave each other conspiring smiles in the face of all of the…Merlyn-ness they were surrounded by.

“Don’t mind them, dove.”  Harry told her in his rich accent.  “They can’t help it really.  Charmers, the lot of them, what can you do?  Call me Harry.”

“Felicity.”  She smiled even brighter at his open friendliness.  “Please, all of you, it’s Felicity.”

“And I’m Malcolm.”  The patriarch offered with a nod, then gestured towards the formal living room with its manned bar.  “Please, I hear tires on the drive, I believe my- _our_ guests will soon be joining us.”

…

Aside from some chilliness emanating from Moira’s section of the table, the dinner was going well, when the conversation invariably turned, as it tended to currently, to the vigilante(s).

“…Please, you can’t _seriously_ be suggesting that this vigilante’s actions are justified, Malcolm?”  Moira scoffed, taking a deep drink of her wine.  “He’s nothing more than a murderer.”

“Really, Moira?”  Malcolm arched a brow.  “He’s cleaning up the streets, crime is down for the first time in five years.  I think that puts him a _little_ above a mere murderer.”

“Crime is down because of our new departmental procedures.”  Police Commissioner Brian Nudocerdo protested, one hand gesturing decisively.  “ _Not_ do to the actions of a man in a Hood – or men – running around taking the law into their own hands.”

“Whatever you tell yourself to sleep at night, Brian.”  Malcolm allowed, smirking.

“Perhaps this vigilante has put the fear of retaliation into the city’s criminal element.”  Walter suggested.  “Many of the Hood’s targets have been repeat offenders or men that have slipped through the cracks of the justice system.  Without being able to get away with crimes, criminals have to watch their step even closer than before.”

“Let’s ask one of our younger companions.”  Malcolm suggested with a devilish look in his eyes that shot chills down the backs of his sons.  “Oliver?  Son, what do you think of this Hood character.”

The old bastard.  Oliver thought in exasperation.  Way to stir the pot, _Dad_.

“I think he needs a better name than _Hood guy_ and mysterious, unconfirmed accomplice.”  He said dryly taking a drink of his water.

Most of the diners chuckled in agreement.  As names went it left a lot to be desired.

“How about…”  Malcolm waved a hand idly.  “Green Arrow?  Isn’t that his signature, Brian?”

“It is.”  Nudocerdo agreed grudgingly.  “And my detectives are certain now that there _is_ an accomplice.  They’re calling him _Coup de Grâce,_ having finally confirmed his – or her – existence at Dr. Miller’s murder.”

“A final, fatal blow.”  Walter murmured, as if to himself though all of them heard it.  “Rather apt, I’d say.  The same with Green Arrow, or simply Arrow.”

…

_Starling City, Verdant Base, December 4, 2012_

“Presenting the infamous crime-fighting killer duo: the Green Arrow and Coup de Grâce!”

Harry gave a belly-laugh at the ring-announcer-style flamboyant gesture of Tommy as he and Oliver made their way downstairs to meet with Diggle about the next name on the list, Oliver just groaning in disgust as the other three men laughed.

“I can’t _believe_ Nudocerdo gave a damn press conference to announce the existence of a second vigilante and used those damn names Malcolm and the others thought up.”  He complained for the dozenth time since the Commisioner’s speech hit the news the previous evening.  “He barely even waited a day to try and stir up the public with the new _scary_ persona of Coup de Grâce hoping that someone will come forward the way they haven’t against the Green Arrow.”

“You two are doing good work, that’s why.”  Diggle said, leaning against the slab table as Tommy darted back out into the office, likely on his way out to see Felicity now that he’d had his joke at their expense.

“If you say so, Dig.”  Oliver said as they huddled around the computer screen.  “If you say so.”

…

_Lian Yu, the Den, Fall 2008_

Oliver did think about it.

Hard.

They’d been right, the two of them being so…open about the whole thing had helped him clear up his own confusing mess of instincts, ideas, and emotions that’d been tangling him up.

But that still didn’t mean he knew what to _do_ about the whole him/Slade/Harry issue.

For one thing, or rather the main thing holding him back, island making him grow up or not, was he really _ready_ to get involved…with two other men…who were both over a decade older than him?

He needed help.

What he really needed was Tommy.

But his best-friend was half a world away and not exactly _available_ to help him talk it through.

So one day, as the weather started to turn chilly and everyone but him and Shado had gone off to hunt, Oliver sucked it up and asked the only person he could: Yao Fei’s daughter who he’d become somewhat friends with while she helped train him.

“Shado, can I talk to you?”  Oliver asked as he walked over to where the Chinese woman was making arrows in the main den chamber.  He’d been tasked with trying to repair the radio salvaged from Slade’s plane, but it was slow going, despite Harry being able to cannibalize parts from the old submarine.

Shado shrugged, keeping her eyes on her work as she started fletching the shafts with feathers taken from their prey birds, already finished with sharpening and attaching the arrowheads.  She knew what Oliver wanted to talk to her about.  _Everyone_ knew what was going on even if no one discussed it openly.

“It’s about this… _thing_ , I don’t even know what to call it, with Slade and Harry…”

“They want you, you want them.”  Shade said deadpan.  “What is there else to talk about?”

“Um…”  Oliver trailed off, crouching down and starting to help, copying her quick movements slowly but thoroughly having assisted with this chore before.  “They’re a lot older than me?  They’re men?  There’s two of them?”  The last was mostly mumbled under his breath but Shado still caught it, setting her finished arrow aside and turning to stare, assessing Oliver’s shadowed face.

“Gender doesn’t matter.”  She told him slowly.  “No matter what you’ve been taught, Alpha-Omega, that’s the way it’s always been.  And age,” she flicked him on the forehead, making him wince with an _ow_.  “We’re alone, on an island, filled with killers, rapists, and mercenaries.  Who is there to judge?”

Oliver was rethinking his whole talk-to-Shado plan, her tone making him feel like a slightly moronic baby, much like who Slade’s early “lessons” in combat had done.

“And as for there being two of them.”  She arched a brow.  “Are you worried about the…physical act itself or the thought of a relationship?”

“I’m nowhere near ready to discuss the physical act between three men, thanks.”  Oliver said hastily, cheeks beet-red.  “I’ve heard of Triads, they tell us about bonded groups in school.  I’ve just never seen one in practice…I have no idea how that is supposed to work.”

“It’s about balance.”  Shado told him seriously, returning to her work.  “And instinct.  In ancient times triads and bonded groups were desirable in my home among warrior clans, honored in many cases for the stability they created.”

“A mourning soldier is either dead or deadly.”  Oliver muttered, remembering something he’d learned in his psychology class.  “Someone did a study on suicide rates in the armed forces due to Dear John letters.”

“Yes.”  Shado nodded, knowing of the phenomena he referred to.  “A mate falling in battle would cripple the other in a bonded pair, even if the living mate was strong enough to live through the break the shock of it would leave them vulnerable.  Triads and groups do not possess the same weakness.  It creates similar benefits in the den as well, lessening the burden on each to be a perfect sire, bearer, lover or provider while multiplying the resources – tangible and intangible.”

“I’ve…never heard it explained that way in my life.  It’s usually explained away as an Alpha being too strong for just one Omega to handle.”  Oliver admitted, nibbling his lip in concentration as he showed his finished arrows to Shado for her approval, the two having worked steadily through their discussion.

“Westerners.”  She said in disgust, clicking her tongue.  “So backwards.”

…

_Sydney, Australia, December 7, 2012_

The international news played in the background of the hotel room as its main occupant – though not its lone occupant – paced listening to the information coming through his cell phone.

He’d put in for his retirement _ages_ ago but the move was partially stalled due to needing his ex-mother-in-law’s signature on a new custody agreement so he could take his son – who he’d gained custody of after returning from his mission to China – with him to their new home.

Joe had been looked after while he’d been out for ASIS between the Chinese mission and his retirement by a combination of a paid caregiver and his cousin Wade, Slade’s other son being his half-brother and too busy with ASIS himself to be around enough to make a difference though he stopped by when he could.

The pup was a good kid, and looking forward to helping him pick out a new den in their new home…if Slade could ever get Mary to _sign the fucking papers_.

He got it.

Mary, just like Adeline had before she died while he was stuck on Lian Yu, blamed him for what had happened to Joe.  Shit.  Slade blamed himself every time he looked at that cheery little face or had to decipher his sign language to communicate.

But now she was starting to take it out on Joe…and that just wasn’t kosher with Slade.

“Look, Mary.”  Slade growled down the line, the older woman giving an involuntary whimper at the sound.  “You hate me.  Under-fucking-stood.  But Joe is _my_ pup and if you make me take this to court all you’ll do is lose, waste money on a lawyer, and _piss me off_.”

“I’ll sign, boy, I’ll sign.”  Mary grated out.  “Send your lackey over with a notary in the morning.”

 _Click_.

Tossing the phone onto the bed, he wandered over to the playing kid in the main living room of the suite, Wade keeping him company.

“How did things go with the old bag?”  Wade asked in his mockingly-interested voice.

He really was an irritating little shit.

But other than a bunch of in-laws who wished he really had died on that fucking island hell-hole, Wade was all he had, even joining him in retirement from ASIS though he’d already gone out on a couple of mercenary jobs where the cause was at least not completely evil and the money was right.

Deadpool had a moral compass that just spun in circles but he, like Slade, had a code he stuck to, even when that code left him looking like a piece of ground meat.

Joe signed, not even looking up from his Nintendo 3DS that Wade had bought him earlier that week when he came back from his last job before they relocated.

_What old bag?_

“Just your cousin Wade talking out his ass, kid.”  Slade told him.  “Don’t worry about it.”

 _You shouldn’t cuss around kids_.

“You’re thirteen years old.  If you don’t know curses in five languages including sign I’ll give you a hundred bucks when we land in the States.”  Slade wagered him with a cocked eyebrow, folding his arms over his chest and then laughing smugly when Joe frowned and focused back on his game.  “That’s what I thought.”

“Only five?  Geez, way to underestimate your bouncing baby boy, Slade.”  Wade smarted off.  “I know I’ve taught him at least twice that.”

“Why the hell would you do that?”

“Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned since we joined the navy…it’s always good to know when a drunk meathead is telling you to go fuck yourself no matter what language it comes out in.”

…

_Starling City, The Loft, December 8, 2012_

“Ooh…Jesus…Oliver.”

Harry moaned deep in his throat as the dirty dream he’d been having turned out not to be a dream after all, one hand coming around to dig into the short blond hair on the top of that bobbing head as Oliver woke him up with the best way _ever_ , his quick, hot tongue laving slowly over the head of Harry’s cock before he breathed in and slid his lips and mouth back down, taking him all and then swallowing, the inner walls of his throat massaging Harry.

Coming off of Harry with an obscene _pop_ , Oliver gave his lover and bond-mate a devilish smirk, sea-green eyes gleaming, before levering himself up and crushing their mouths together, Harry finally opening his eyes to the early-morning light as he swept through Oliver’s mouth search out and laving at the copious pre-cum Oliver had sucked down like candy.

“Morning, love.”  Oliver panted as they separated, grinding his own iron-hard erection against Harry’s now-slick arousal, sending a groan spilling from between Harry’s lush kiss-bruised lips.  “Thought you wouldn’t mind if I started without you.”

“Anytime, Oliver, anytime.”  Harry told him, planting his feet and thrusting up against Oliver, searching for friction to finish what Oliver had started.

Growling after several long moments of teasing, Harry snapped his hands around Oliver’s hips, lifting him up in the air in a massive show of strength before rotating him so that that wicked mouth of his was once more hovering over Harry’s cock while Oliver’s own was at just the right spot to return the favor.

One benefit of their nearly matching heights was it made 69 particularly easy to accomplish.

Oliver chuckled, coming up onto his knees and elbows, licking a sultry stripe from root-to-tip on the feverish-red organ pulsing in front of him, his own leaking, as Harry’s rare shows of strength never failed to amp up his arousal – or create it in the first place.

Knowing what each other liked, the two set to work, Oliver focusing on the plum-shaped head of Harry’s cock, pumping the shaft with one hand while Harry slicked his pointer and middle fingers, at first just teasing the rim of Oliver’s hole before pushing in as he took the leaking organ into his hot mouth.

Pumping his finger, he quirked it inside, searching then added the second in a slightly burning stretch, the two digits finding and stroking slow and steady over Oliver’s prostate, his lover giving a pleasing gasp around Harry’s pole at the sensation coursing through his body.

Harry was already nearly there with Oliver’s wake-up call, and having his fingers up that tight ass and his mouth on a tasty cock while a wicked mouth and hands worked his own wasn’t a recipe for holding back, Harry letting go of Oliver’s meat and turning his head slightly as he felt himself peak, biting lightly at Oliver’s thigh as he pressed, _hard_ , on his prostate at the same time he filled that pretty mouth full of salty – if swimmer-less – cum.

A rough swipe of his tongue on Oliver’s head had the other man shaking, pearly-white liquid splattering all over Harry’s face and neck as Oliver pulled off Harry, looking up between them and swallowing obscenely, a drop of Harry’s fluid trailing down from one corner of his mouth as his lover continued to work his prostate, mouth opening and tongue out until Oliver had nothing left to give.

Slowly sliding his finger free from Oliver’s gripping channel, he turned his head and kissed his lover’s now-marked thigh gently as Oliver moved and turned to snuggle up against Harry the two of them sharing and reveling in the taste of their own spurt on the other’s tongue and mouth, Oliver chasing his trails left on Harry with a hungry mouth and sharing his prize until there was nothing left but their scents on each other’s skin.

Oliver finally laid his head down in the crook of Harry’s neck, searching out and finding that hidden trace of _Slade_ that had been left in their own scent gland when they’d fully bonded as a triad.

Slade used to love watching them together nearly as much as he loved fucking them himself, being a carnal, physical Alpha.  He would have been right in the middle of that nasty cum-filled kiss, adding his own as he stroked off right onto their twining tongues as he straddled one of them, one large hand on his massive cock and the other scooping Oliver’s spurt into their mouths.  But it wasn’t just the sex Oliver missed, though he still ached for what was gone.

It was…everything.

Everything Slade brought to their triad.

His sense of irreverent humor, the way he teased them, the soft underbelly that he only showed them.

The little things he’d do to show he cared, like bringing back edible wildflowers and tucking them behind their ears.

“I miss him too.”  Harry murmured, knowing, as he always seemed to, what was on Oliver’s mind.  “What were you remembering?”

Oliver laughed a little, wistful as always when they’d talk about their dead Alpha.

“The wildflowers.”

Harry chuckled a little.  “Remember the first time he did that, weren’t you cussing up a storm over that radio?”

“Yeah…I remember.”

…

_Lian Yu, The Den, Fall 2008_

Oliver dropped the wire he needed, his hands shaking and eyes tired from the fine work he’d been doing all morning in the dim light of the den.

Since talking with Shado the week before, he’d been more open and friendly with Harry and Slade again, instead of jumping a foot every time one of them got too close or blushing furiously at each off-color comment – which with Slade happened a lot.

As they’d said they would, the other two men took their cue from him, never rushing or pressing him despite their in-your-face way of making their interest known.

They were just…there.

All the _time_.

Slade leaning in close with a cocky smirk and a teasing remark, Harry brushing a hand down his back as they worked on his scouting or hunting ability.

Always around him, always present, and beaming like mad every time he would return the favor, volunteering to help Harry move things to the submarine in preparation for their heats which were looking like they’d hit in the next month or so from what Harry figured.  Choosing to sit a little too close to Slade, leaning gently into the Alpha’s warm body.  Little things, little increments of advancing, of getting comfortable with both them as well as himself as a receiving party instead of always being the giving or pursuing party like he had been with girls at school and in his social set.

There were times – often in fact – where pre-island-Ollie had thought that the only reason those girls even went out with him was because of how he looked or what he could buy them.  A thought reinforced by none of them even trying to get to know him better or find out what made him tick.  That was one of the reasons he liked Sara.

She’d never been all that impressed with his money or status, even if she’d been pretty blatantly taken with his looks as they got older, at least she knew him as more than a wallet and a nice body.

Cursing the air blue, Oliver stood up and stormed away from the radio, stymied for the moment, shaking out his cramping hands and tingling limbs from sitting in one place so long.

“Fuck!”  He finally said, Harry laughing a little from their sleeping den.  Shado and Yao Fei were out hunting while Slade was out scouting – no surprise there.  Lately they’d been working on bringing in roots and herbs they could dry to last through the winter in addition to clearing excess supplies from the submarine and moving what they’d need for their two heats in.  Thanks to Harry’s suppressors that he takes, they all knew he’d be having one around what they guessed was mid-October by Shado’s count, with Oliver’s expected to hit a week before or after playing off the other Omega’s cycle.

That was the thing with Omegas: they synced up when around each other long enough.

But not exactly, their throw-back genetic code realizing that having every Omega around go on heat at the same time – and throwing the Alphas into rut – was a danger to their survival.  So they synced in a domino effect, one following another with anywhere to a day or a week between depending on how many Omegas were living in close quarters.  Harry would go on heat, last it out which he said due to the suppressors was around five days since he only went off them twice a year, then Oliver’s would start soon after or the opposite.  His heat was likely to only last three days however, since he’d not yet been deemed “balanced out” enough from his forced suppression to go back on, though Harry was seriously considering putting him on them for the winter, whether his chemistry was one-hundred percent righted or not.

By Oliver’s count, if this was mid-September which was their best guesstimate, then he hadn’t had a suppressor dose since just after his birthday last year – approximately sixteen months – but he’d only had his first heat four months in or a year ago this time.  An unsuppressed Omega went into heat on a personal schedule – they just haven’t figured out what Oliver’s happened to be yet – between once and six times a year depending on their genetics and a lot of other factors.  There was simply no way to know what Oliver’s cycle was until he’d gone through a solid year with balanced chemistry and no suppressors.

Harry’s guess was that due to Oliver having several heats the previous fall, then six months without, then one in the summer was for him to have three or four a year, depending.

Which if it was right would have Oliver going on heat again between December and February – if he doesn’t follow Harry’s suppressed twice a year which would mean April when they were in the clear and the submarine was safe to use again.

A lot of planning which was moot if they…

No.

Oliver wasn’t ready to consider that, not yet.

“I almost have it.”  He tossed over his shoulder to Harry as he continued to pace and swear, meaning the radio.

“Really?”

“Well.”  Oliver corrected.  “The outgoing circuits are pretty fried, I need to see if I can find anything I can use to replace them with in the submarine.  But I’ve almost got the receiver cobbled together.”  He gave the other Omega an excited look that lit up his no-longer boyish features, the fine layer of baby fat having melted away under the harsh Lian Yu sun, leaving behind all sharp angles, a strong jaw, and carved cheekbones.  “We’ll be able to listen in on Fyers…maybe.  Depends on the range.”

“Even if its hit-and-miss, it’ll be better than flying blind, darling.”  Harry gave him a soft smile as he stood and moved over, slowly, giving Oliver plenty of time to move away, leaning in and pressing a gentle kiss to his mouth, stroking his thumb over one blushing cheek.

That was new too, Harry having started calling Oliver “darling” and Slade “love” since Oliver had become receptive to their advances.  It had startled Ollie at first, having never been anyone’s “darling” before, and he could tell that Slade was chuffed over being deemed a “love”, Slade having to explain that Brits had over a hundred different ways of saying “darling” but that those two were used often to show affection – not necessarily as a way of declaring an emotion.  And that those two weren’t as “sickeningly sweet” as some of the others that Harry had obligingly spouted off: honey, baby, sugar, pumpkin, babes, poppet, and on the list went, Oliver and the others goggling a bit over the amount that Harry knew.

It wasn’t the whole list…but it was impressive nonetheless, Harry passing it off as having had a friend once who tried to read every book in their school library – including the dictionary – and Harry had joined out of pure self-defense.

Not even Slade had teased him further, that having been one of the first – if not the only – piece of his life before the island that Harry had ever shared with any of them beyond who he used to work for.

When it came to his past, they’d all quickly realized that he made even Yao Fei look chatty.

There was pain there, they all knew.

And a shit-ton of it if Oliver’s instincts were right about what those scars on his back implied.

“Good job.”  Harry told him proudly, squeezing his shoulder softly and then backing up a bit to give Oliver space.

It was then that Slade returned from scouting – with a most curious haul and a teasing smirk on his face.

Not saying a word to either of them, the ASIS agent feared by those-in-the-know the world over, reached out and tucked a stem or several of slightly-wilted flowers behind each of their ears, grinning ear to ear, and smacked a kiss to each of their cheeks.

“What the fuck’s gotten into you?”  Oliver asked blinking rapidly as Harry cocked his head to one side and studied the flowers tucked behind the younger Omega’s ear.

“He’s being an Alpha.”  Harry explained dryly.  “But an enterprising one.”  Reaching out he tugged the stems away from Oliver’s hair, pointing to each of the two flowers.  “Spoiling his potential Omegas and proving his prowess at providing at the same time, look.”  Harry tapped one bunch that had green leaves Oliver almost recognized on it.  “Alpine cress.”  And then the other that now that he studied it Oliver knew.

“And angelica.”  Oliver arched a brow at the smug form of Slade.  “You brought us edible flowers.”

“Pretties for my pretties.”  Slade teased.  “And about half as useful.  There’s barely more than a nibble there but when I found the cress I thought you’d like it.”

Harry offered the flowers back to Oliver who took them with a half-grin and an eye roll over the “my pretties” comment.

“Thank you, behemoth.”

“You’re welcome, minx.”

…

_Harry and Oliver, Starling City, 2012_

Oliver laughed louder shaking a little.

“I still can’t believe you wore those all day.”

“And then Shado and Fei used them as part of our dinner.”  Harry added, sighing as their humor died down.  “There were times when I thought the pair of you would never stop making fun of each other.”

Now that Slade’s…gone, he’d give anything to be exasperated over it all over again.

“Had fun thinking up new things to call him though, him too since _kid_ made him feel like a dirty old man.”

“Slade was pretty dirty.”  Both in the fun-naughty-way and in the we-have-no-modern-bathing-facilities-way.  Harry pointed out as they climbed from the bed.  “But most people would _kill_ to look like him and be considered old.”

“True.”  Oliver said, nodding as they wandered into the bathroom for a quick rinse off before heading to Verdant for morning training.  He thought of the first time he saw the Aussie doing headstand pushups and added: “ _Very_ true.”

…

_Starling City Mall, December 21, 2012_

Harry was on the hunt for presents, Christmas having crept up fast on the vigilante team as they took out another handful of names from the list of over six dozen people up to their necks in dirty business.

Dig had been the one to point out that the List wasn’t even close to being completed, as several pieces had been torn out and were missing.

Which meant that for all their work and the scum bags that were either in jail or dead, they hadn’t even gotten a quarter of the way done with it, especially since they’d started looking into taking down criminals outside of the six dozen-plus names.

Robert had been dead over five years after all.

And five years was a long time for the landscape of a criminal underworld to stay stagnant.

Their new head of Security – who had greatly enjoyed his pay raise that came along with the promotion – had been the one to remind them of the coming holiday, sending both Harry and Oliver into a tizzy, albeit for different reasons.

To Oliver it was a symbol of what he’d lost and missed while away from his family – though his family _now_ is drastically different than the one that used to put up a Christmas tree in every room of the Queen Mansion – an important reminder that they weren’t knee-deep in mercs and blood anymore, too worried about staying alive to worry over things like holidays.

It was a pure memory for Oliver, one of the few things that remained clean no matter how far down into the muck and grime of the Queen family secrets they crawled.

Harry wanted him to have that.

To hold onto that unspoiled memory of better days and why they were fighting to clean up the city.

That made a once-painful holiday for Harry – between the Dursleys and the betrayal of those nearest and dearest – into something he could hold to as well, for himself.

Weasley sweaters and homemade fudge may have been spoiled for him, but running around Grimmauld Place with Padfoot and Moony, pranking with the twins?  Those memories were still untouched.  And the older he got, the more important those few beacons of happiness were to him.

Otherwise, what was the fucking point?

He was at the mall shopping for some of the easier names on his list: Felicity, Thea, Walter, maybe Tommy or Dig; while planning to get the harder cases something either sharp and pointy or homemade.

Or both.

Whatever he could come up with to buy a pair of billionaires that liked to hunt down criminals.

The more he was around them, the more those similarities in attitude continued to scream out regarding father and son, mainly due to similar-but-different life experiences that’d taken their toll.

Dig and Tommy were both damaged from various things, and Thea really needed some help before she drank herself into an early grave, but it was nowhere near what himself, Malcolm, and Oliver had done and seen despite the age gaps between all three of them.

Harry had known too much loss in his life, had too many things tainted by later revelations and betrayals, to want that damage for Oliver, something he was dead certain Malcolm would agree with him on.

He’d finished paying for a handwoven scarf for Thea from Bangladesh and a Coach bag for Felicity, casually casting for scents, aware as always of potential danger, when he caught wind of something that was achingly familiar.

_Slade?!_

Taking his bags and absently thanking the sales girl, Harry casted for the scent filtering out the extraneous scents and focusing in on the eucalyptus-spice-Slade tinge that lingered tauntingly on the fetid mall recirculated air.

Where was it coming from?

And more vital, _who_ was it coming from?

It couldn’t be Oliver – for one his bond-mate was across town, or should be, and for another the scent of their lost Alpha hadn’t been near so strong on either of them since the freighter.

Only one thing made sense to Harry – the three people Slade had mentioned as kin, his sons Grant and Joe or his cousin Wade, though Joe, who if Harry’s math was right should be in his early teens now, was more likely to carry such a strong tinge of _Eau du Slade_ , since he wasn’t old enough to present yet, the way Grant had, developing his own scent in the process.

Either way if they were in Starling, any of them, he and Oliver needed to know.  To protect them failing anything else.  Joe’s mother was supposed to be alive and well according to Slade, which had stopped them from going to check on the pup after getting off the island for a final time.  All previous checks had shown the same – Adeline was alive and had custody, there was no way the bond-mate of her ex-husband would be able to get their hands on her son even if from what they understood it would be better for the boy.  Failing that, Joe’s custody would’ve automatically reverted to his older half-brother Grant, who had followed his father’s footsteps into the Navy before getting scooped up by ASIS.

No, they’d had no choice – legally – but to leave him with her, especially with as high-profile as Oliver was, resorting to less-than-legal means to retrieve their Alpha’s pup would’ve been noted and had them arrested for kidnapping in days.

It had hurt, deeply, that they’d failed to bring Joe in as a member of their family, even fractured as it is.

But if he was here, now, well…that was a thestral of a different color.

Harry just needed to _find him_.

Which in a mall filled with teenagers and an elusive scent all he had to go on, was easier said than done.

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Welcome to Omega, Mr. Black](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10554502) by [valdemort](https://archiveofourown.org/users/valdemort/pseuds/valdemort)




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